We spent the day at the beach today. "The Beach," whatever beach it may be, will always be one of my favorite places in the world. It never fails to send me into a variety of moods. For a few minutes, it will make me feel like a little girl, and I'll splash through the waves and run across the sand to find a quiet spot to read or write (I had an obsession with quiet spots and hidey-holes when I was younger... I still do). Then watching the sea from afar will put me in a meditative, somber mood, which is good for journaling and writing poetry.
And then when I'm standing on the shoreline, watching a wave approaching, my mind begins to take a more morbid path. "It's coming to take me," I always think, as the wave gets closer.
It doesn't help at all that in one of my favorite murder mysteries, Have His Carcase by Dorothy L. Sayers, a body is discovered at the seaside. (I highly recommend the book, by the way. And the miniseries with Harriet Walter and Edward Petherbridge.) Something about the cry of a sea gull will always be linked in my mind with death.