He stood on the concrete pier, brown eyes looking out at the open sea. The wind tugged at his clothing and ruffled his hair violently. Little specks of white appeared amid the blue of the water; froth from the rabid waves. He didn’t envy the tiny dot that was the fishing boat. It bobbed up and down like a cork, tossed here and there by the forces of Nature. He could barely make out the faint forms of the fishermen as they darted back and forth in the boat.
He closed his eyes, inhaling the salt-infested air. Still, the rough sea called to him. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – leave. Maybe in some previous lifetime, he’d been a marine creature, he thought. He loved the sea. He yearned to travel and disappear past that big blue horizon, and keep going until he forgot his name, like the horse from the song. He longed to have hands callused and torn from handling fishing nets all day, skin tanned from the burning sun, sea salt drying in his hair and on his clothes. The weariness from an honest day’s work was welcome, more so than the blurry-eyed procrastination in front of a screen all day.
No, he wasn’t a technophobe.
Yet in front of the simple beauty of the universe, how could you look the other way?