On the Ocean

My home is not a building, but a feeling. If home was an animal, it would be a fish. Home is calm at times, but loud and exciting at other times. Home is on the ocean. If I had to describe my home, it would be the smell of sea salt and the water gently splashing over and over on the boat. My home is the sound of sea gulls cawing and the wild breeze on my face. My large sailors jacket hardly keeps the ice-cold wind and water off me. The radio crackles with voices but the loud barking of sea lions drown it out. Home is memories on the ocean. I remember when my caught a thirty-two-pound ivory salmon and we needed to hold the rod together to get the fish up on the boat, or when we went on a helicopter to get to my fishing destination and I got to sit in the front with the captain. I remember the time I saw huge flocks of birds on an island, and the day a fish almost jumped in the boat and we all laughed. I hear a splash and I know that the fish is at the boat. I see the zombie like body and know it is a lingcod. The sun starts to set, and it makes a pastel of colors, and we start up the engine to go home. My home is on the ocean, and the memories will always be with me.