Saturday, August 05, 2006

Home is the sailor, home from the sea...

Actually, just home from the shore, the Jersey shore. Someone--my brother-in-law, I think--suggested that when one says they're going to the shore, it is universally understood (in the states, at least) that one is going to New Jersey, to the New Jersey shoreline where the Atlantic rumbles and spits, ebbs and floods; a robust gush of white-crested, moon-pulled saltwater that captures the essential fancy of even the most cynical.

The picture above, by the way, was taken about 7 a.m., about a half-hour to forty-five minutes after the sunrise turns from a basketball of orange fire to what you see in the picture. I pointed my camera directly at the sun--from the balcony of our bed and breakfast--and the affect of seeming sunset, the dark land, the coruscation of the sunlight on the sea is, at least, interesting.

Incidentally, as I titled this post, above, I googled the words just to take a look at the complete poem by A.E. Hausman and discovered--yes, I'll admit I didn't know it--that those words were first written (conceived) by Robert Louis Stevenson in his Requiem. Lest you think less of Hausman, he did acknowledge and credit Stevenson.

This is my third trip to the Jersey Shore, to Ocean Grove for the purpose of celebrating my nephew's birthday. He, Jack, became eight this year. Of all the pics I took of him and his sister, Kate, and their mom and dad and David, I'm fascinated with this pensive image of him as he and his mom and sister awaited the departure of ride at Point Pleasant Amusement Park which is about an hour south of Ocean Grove.
Yes, there are scads of pics with smiles. And, to be fair, here's another pic of Jack on the balcony of our bed and breakfast. He's a good boy, with a fine mind,
a wonderful sense of humor,
the ability to counter, tit for tat,
his Uncle George's quips and
comments, arguments and logic
or illogic, as it may be.

Much more to be said about the trip to the shore. But, as is my
habit, I'm going on here and probably losing your interest. So, I'll
end this post here and take up the adventure again in a future, or several future posts.

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