I never tire of looking at the sea. On my first walk along the Istrian coastline it was a warm and sunny day. A few boats in the bay, then I followed the coastal path, no boats or people, just one or two seagulls sitting on rocks. The sea surface was ruffled, its colours shades of deep blue with areas of pale green.
At one point, a deep chasm between rocks, and the water in the cleft is turquoise. Scarlet anemones are scattered round the opening like red buttons.
The next time I took a different route to the sea, coming out further along the coast. It's cooler and the sea is rougher too with some waves splashing against rocks.
It's a stony track, negotiable by cars. A large 4x4 passed me, avoiding the puddles, driving half up on the bank, as if he was in a hurry. Later, he's parked at the track edge. He had not got out to walk but was sitting in the car looking out to sea. Perhaps he was simply seeking the solace of gazing at the waves breaking on the rocks, the shifting water with its varieties of colours, and the hills on the other side of the bay, a fuzzy blue merging with the blue of the sea.
Some of the rock formations are thin layers piled on top of each other, pressed together like millefeuilles.
Today is a different mood entirely. It's chilly, windy, and the sea has white wave tips and waves crash against rocks. The surface is whisked, shifts, as if restless to get somewhere and there's a roaring sound, a mixture of wind and surf, a primordial growl, a fierce deep joy out of which come the individual thumps and hisses of waves crashing over rocks.
Tonight there is a wild storm, wind, rain, thunder and lightning.