The Little River Band: "Cool Change"
And it's there that I feel my best
The albatross and the whales
they are my brothers
It's kind of a special feeling
When you're out on the sea alone
Starin' at the full moon
like a lover
a cool change...
I know that it's time
for a cool change
Now that my life
is so prearranged
I know that it's time
for a cool change...
That so suits my mood at the moment. I really need to find a job where I can go out on the ocean again. "If there's one thing in my life that's missing..." I miss being at sea. I'm not even an hour from the coast, but I'm still too damned far. I miss walking on the beach, or better still, feeling the deck shift and roll beneath my feet. I miss the call of the gulls, the roar of the surf, the sharp tang of salt and kelp in the air. I miss the impossible quiet of the blue when you're just drifting, far from sight of land.
I miss the stars, seen from a flying bridge on the midwatch, stretching from horizon to horizon, the Milky Way so bright and blazing and clear that it's impossible to fathom how it could just vanish in the haze and light of the cities.
People ask me why I so stubbornly stay in California, despite the job market -- it's because my soul needs to be near the Ocean (and preferably the Pacific). Iowa? Ohio? The Great Lakes don't cut it -- and may all the gods and powers deliver me from the hell of a land-locked state. On a day like today, in a mood like this, I'd rather starve on the shores of the deeps than prosper inland.
I am connected to the sea. "The albatross and the whales, they are my brothers." I have traveled the length and breadth of the United States, and much of Canada; I've seen the West Coast of North America from the Aleutians to Acapolco, and in all these places, I have never felt more at home, more alive, than I do on the ocean. My "home town" is the Pacific.
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.
I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life.
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.