There is something wonderful about the ocean, its steady rhythm, the unending pounding of waves as thay reach the shore with their towing pinnacles of white rising to the sky and the thunderous crash as they collapse upon themselves. There is a constancy that is somehow reassuring and yet there is a latent power and surprise that expresses itself most fully on those days where the sea seems angry and terrible, powered by unseen energy, driven by the wind. This is when I love it the most. I've lived near water for most of my life. I'm blessed now to live where both mountain and sea are not only visible but accessible. Today, I'm on the headland, watched over by the faithful lighthouse, as the waves crash mercilessly on the rocks below and the wind, a strong nor easter, cools the heat of the almost ended day. There are ships on the horizon waiting for their day in port, their call to action and to offload what precious cargo they possess. The strength of the breeze means ...