I must go down to the sea today...

First line of a favorite poem, Dylan Thomas I think.
A seafaring nation, the British, although our family simply visited the windy shale beaches on the chilly southeast coast a couple of times. My grandmother claimed the cold water and wind "makes ye hardy". We wore thin cotton short summer frocks regardless of the weather. We dressed by the calendar.
But today the late fall Northern California afternoon sun is baking the dregs in my portable tea mug left in the car overnight and all I can think is that I must must must go down to the sea. I've never lived more than 30 miles from a coast in my life and when I catch a whiff of the glorious sea and lick the salt from my lips, eyes squinched against the wind, hair streaming behind me, treading the very edge of the land I am living in at that particular time, well, something grand seems to rise up in me. I look to the horizon and my inner cabin girl kicks in. I want to leap free of this earth, skim the foaming tips of waves... I am going... now. And did I mention, I hate to swim?