The ocean breeze

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
Sea-Fever by John Masefield

The wind today is not from the sea; rather it is southeast off the North Atlantic Ocean. It is a strong 30 km/h wind which stirs the branches of the overhead Buttonwood bushes and disturbs the palm tree fronds. The daily weather report (when accessible along the rattled cable wires and communication towers) is confined to the 80°F temperature and the force of the wind. At sea level on this tiny ribbon of coral reef the commotion overhead is palpable and undeterred.

One might justifiably imagine that the morning allure of the sweeping wind would eventually fade from consciousness and ebb into the surrounding environment. But it did not. Certainly there were periods of tranquillity but they were not long subdued. During one of those brief periods during which the repeated and sudden wind loosened, I withdrew from my chaise longue by the pool to the open air shower stall for refreshment. As I regained my chair the wind gathered and resumed.  Within seconds I was completely dry, my burnished carcass exposed to the relentless sunshine (though much assuaged by the powerful ocean breeze).

As the mounting heat further languished the afternoon, the azure dome acquired a faint colour of grey, a gossamer film. It were as though the North Atlantic Ocean beneath the sizzling rays had caste into the heavens a patina of salt from the sea.