where the sea throws a most unbecoming tantrum

I was waist-deep in the sea, and whipped by rain,
when she decided to pelt me in the face with briny foam.
"What did you do that for?" I asked, and wiped my eyes.

I have heard, she hissed, that you wish to visit the NORTH SEA.
I’ll give you North sea, if you wish to see it. I’ll show you water the colour of pale tea and filled with things unknown to you."
And she drew back deeply, sucking up a good amount of sand with a generous portion of broken sea weed beads for good measure. Then flung them in my face.

“THERE. Do you like that? And, whats more,”
she said, poised for another shot, fortified this time with small fragments of stinging things she had obviously cast around for, way down somewhere deep.,
“ there is rain, and very unfriendly wind, and if you don’t watch out, the North sea will steal you from the very shore if you linger to peer at the wet sand. As you, I have noticed, are very prone to doing.”

This time it was such a forceful wave I was forced to dart right down to the bottom and hold onto the sand in the clearer depths, while the tantrum passed.
Her fury turned the water to champagne, for though she meant to frighten, it really was not in her nature to be malevolent, and even with the meagre ammunition, pieces of weed and wavefuls of sand, the waves still smelt turquoise and redolent of pears. Certainly, nothing to be frightened of.

“My waves are bigger. I cannot imagine what business you have, dreaming of being so far away, when I have made you such a safe and pretty home. Iceland indeed. England!”
At this, she whipped me again. I was beginning to itch. I rubbed my eyes again, and removed long strands of my own hair from my mouth before I spoke.

“I’m just going for a look, it won’t be long! And how can I see here, where I am, if I cannot be reminded of there, where I am not? For part of my history lies there, you know. Small patterns, yes, and old ones too, but there, nonetheless.

She was quiet, for a moment. The waves milk green and fizzing.

“And anyway, where does one ocean end, and another begin?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.

That afternoon, the raft of rainclouds rolled out to sea, and the next morning sharp and blue as ever. She wasn’t speaking to me, merely shifting and rolling , silent in the aura of her dark blue beauty.