Because I Need a Coast to Keep Me in Line

i woke up friday morning far too early, as the sun was rising — but not to the sun, rather to the sound of seagulls. that morning, while leaving the apartment in edinburgh that had been our headquarters for the week, i thought of how i will miss the gulls, strange as it may sound, because the sound of a seagull (usually) carries with it the implication that there's an ocean or a sea nearby. in this case, the north sea, which — surprisingly — i had never been to prior to 2021, when we were in bremerhaven and took a detour to kleiner preuße at my insistence, because i couldn't have come so close to the water to not be at it, in it.

i expected the lighthouse we'd set as our destination in google maps to be closed, and the seaside to be empty, but as we pulled up, it quickly became clear that we wouldn't have the sea to ourselves, as there appeared to be an outdoor concert happening that evening, and all the locals had come out. and that was just fine, as there's certainly enough of it to go around.

it was low tide, and i remember having the impression that one could walk out for miles and still be in shallow water.

it was the same this week when we went to portobello beach, and as we picked our way along the shore in our sneakers, we saw seaweed, shells, barnacles, half a crab that the birds must have gotten, sand casts, and other debris that had been washed ashore. dogs ran along the beach and splashed in the water, the seagulls circled overhead and called out to one another, and i was once again met with a sense of contentness, as the coast always imbues with it the sense of being home, for me.

i'm not sure when i'll next be on the coast — any coast, as any one will do — but even though berlin is now (and has been for some time) home, the coast will always call to me, and i'll always do my best to answer that call.