I’ve got used to wind. I don’t try to avoid it anymore, I don’t try to hide from it. I even have caught myself smiling when the wind starts to mess my hair. It’s a natural part of life by the sea, and I slowly have fallen in love with it. Today was a really warm day, but now and then a strong breeze came from the west. Ancient Greeks called it Zephyrus, the god of the west wind. He was also the messenger of Spring. Today Zephyrus brought his warm message over the fabric of the sea. He made beautiful wind wrinkles in water, a swell that crossed the steady waves, making a dance of patterns that I could watch all day.
“The wind never comes unsummoned, or in a solid block. All you feel at first is a finger or two, the faint chilling of the skin on the cheek, or stroking the nape of your neck. But then it builds a little, one finger becomes five, the canvas stirs, like a dog in a bed, begins to acquire a form, and the boat gains a sense of purpose…”
Adam Nicolson. The Mighty Dead: Why Homer Matters. 2014
I also meditated on that deep dark blue color farther away. You know that hue when deep blue becomes warm, almost purple. Maybe that’s what Homer meant by the wine-dark sea?