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In the manner of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, "How do I love thee, let me count the ways" a rewrite for IB.
IB, I love thee. Let me count the waves.
I love thee at low tide’s murmur broken
With the cacophony of gulls’ quarrels.
I love thee at high tide, explosions
Of surf against sand, pier, and jetty.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Quiet sunrise, foggy morning gray.
I love thee most in saying good night,
The sun slipping in a golden glow to sleep.
I have loved thee in sun-stamped childhood,
Teenaged rapture of first love, walking hand in hand,
And with my spouse, my children, my family,
Always drawn back to your shores, the scent, the sound,
In my heart of hearts, only you are home.
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Lovely heart of hearts in poetry to the shores given wonders.
Lady Mary Ann
I understand your situation, now living in the Midwest where you miss that distant lonely seashore that you've seen all your life. Strange, but I miss it, too. I only lived there for three short years and only went to the seashore a few times, but the Gulf Coast does not compare to looking out over the Pacific. I recall, driving on Interstate 80 back into the Bay Area at sunset one time of few years after I left, when an immense feeling of "coming home" came over me. I've had many homes since then, but never felt like that in any of them.
With the seasons and the comaraderie of new friends in your retirement retreat, especially at Thanksgiving, Christmas and the New Year, you will begin to feel less homesick as time goes on.
Ron