He knew the magic monotony of existence between sky and water: he had to bear the criticism of men, the exactions of the sea, and the prosaic severity of the daily task that gives bread — but whose only reward is in the perfect love of the work. This reward eluded him. Yet he could not go back, because there is nothing more enticing, disenchanting, and enslaving than the life at sea … . Only once in all that time he had again a glimpse of the earnestness in the anger of the sea. That truth is not so often made apparent as people might think. There are many shades in the danger of adventures and gales, and it is only now and then that there appears on the face of facts a sinister violence of intention — that indefinable something which forces it upon the mind and the heart of a man, that this complication of accidents or these elemental furies are coming at him with a purpose of malice, with a strength beyond control, with an unbridled cruelty that means to tear out of him his hope and his fear, the pain of his fatigue and his longing for rest.

From “Lord Jim,” by Joseph Conrad

With an elegant and powerful prose, Joseph Conrad describes life at sea between sky and water, the monotony of the environment and the almost hypnotic effect on men, the attraction it exerts on them, and “the anger of the sea,” the “unbridled cruelty.”  In quite a few languages—among them Spanish and French—sea is a feminine noun. Of course, this has to do with its beauty that has made men fall in love, the blues, greens, grays, and turquoise blues of the water.  The ending of one of my tales in “The Silver Teacup” reflects this feminine enchantment that surrounds the sea:

“I am afraid of tomorrow when the sun will come out winking at the sea, and the surf will undulate like Carmela’s hair, regaling the beach with a long gown of white lace—and I will not be there to witness that moment ever again.”