Today I Got Sea Fever With John Masefield Floating On Lake Wichita

I really am never as grumpy as I manage to look whenever I attempt to take one of those annoying selfie photos. Then again, I always manage to look the same type grumpy in non-selfie photos taken by just about anyone.

Apparently the reality is I just look grumpy.

I am okay with that.

This morning, after I returned from the library, ALDI and the post office, due to the outer world being somewhat warmed into the near 60 zone, and with a wind blowing from the south, I opted to head my bike south to Lake Wichita, a location I had not visited for a week or two or three.

When I reached the top of Lake Wichita dam and the Mount Wichita pseudo mini-volcano came into view I thought it looked fun to ride out onto the floating dock and have myself some rocking wave action.

The rocking dock did not disappoint. When a long time has passed since I have been moved by actual saltwater ocean waves, I get sort of nostalgic for such, even when I am at a pale substitute like today, on the rolling dock floating on the open sea of Lake Wichita.

A moment like this, being one with the water, always takes me back in time to 4th grade. I was out of school for about a month due to having my tonsils removed. My teacher, at the time, Mr. Gerry, assigned me only one piece of homework to attend to during my absence. I had to memorize a poem of his choosing and recite it in front of the class upon my return.

The poem was by John Masefield, a wordsmith of renown who was the Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom longer than anyone, lasting as such from 1930 til Masefield's death in 1967.

The poem that 4th grade nine year old boy had to memorize is titled Sea Fever. This poem haunts me. Whenever I am in a wave rolling situation, like today, Sea Fever come to mind, I say the first lines and then never can stop myself from once again reciting the entire poem...

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; 
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.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

________________

This can not be normal to be haunted by a poem one had to memorize when one was nine.