It feels like I live so far from the ocean. And so deep among the concrete and car exhaust and houses stacked upon houses. I’ve lived here for a year now, almost to this day. I haven’t thought much about the ocean.
But just now I heard the foghorns of a ship from the open window of my apartment: three or four long low notes through the mist and light rain. At the day’s darkening. And I’ve seen this day, from start to finish: all its turns of weather, all its 14 hours of daylight. And then this foghorn, it made me indescribably happy, like the announcement of some other place and time. I felt out to sea once more.
It came from the drawbridge down the road, I know, but it could have just as easily come from the Pacific Ocean.
Life on Mars with a Banjo 