The language of the sea.

A beach day. The nicest of days in Sardinia. Like yesterday. A day at Cala Domestica beach. Tucked in an inlet of the Mediterranean Sea. A narrow beach. Protected on both sides by cliffs. I walk into the sea. For several hundred feet. Into crystal clear water. Chest high. My true love is a good swimmer. She ventures out. Like a mermaid. Maybe a dolphin. Like most Sardinians, she's naturally attracted to the sea. Sardinians need the sea. For spiritual nourishment. I'm addicted, too. To the lure of the sea. I could spend 7 days a week, 30 days a month, forever at the seaside. Even in the winter. It doesn't get wintry cold in Sardinia. More like a September or early October in my native Minnesota. No snow at the seaside. Ever. No freezing temperature. Ever. Granted, it seems like a chill for Sardinians. But for me, it's balmy. Paradise. I've been judged daffy for walking into the sea in January. But then, I've been hardened by Lake Superior in a Minnesota summer. The Mediterranean is still warmer. Yesterday, my true love worshipped the sea and the sun. I scurried into the shade. Along a rocky overhang. Nestled on a beach towel. But still, my feet are red. Sun-burned. I didn't have sense enough to use sunblock or pull my feet into the shade. We had the beach almost to ourselves. But there was an international flavor. Overheard conversations in German, English and Spanish. But best of all. The language of the sea. Beckoning us. --Jim Broede