When I am at the sea, I sometimes get sad. I always have. I love the ocean. The primal push and pull. The sounds of the waves in steady unending cadence. Perhaps that is part of what it is saddening: all the while my life is continuing to tumble forward, the waves are a constant. I come back, and they are still doing their thing. The ocean may be wilder or calm and composed, but the movement is there. I am instantly prompted to reflect on my life since the last ocean visit, and often go to the mourning places to take in the watery womb of myself.