I don’t think there is anything on earth as dwarfing as the open ocean, the sensation of perching atop the curvature of the earth with naught but water in all directions. To be on such a vast expanse is to confront something larger than the mind is capable of grasping. We were seven miles offshore, collecting plankton in an 8-meter boat, yet at even such a short distance, there was only the barest sense of shore just beyond the horizon behind.
It is funny, but we often do not recognize the accuracy of a poetic cliché until we experience it ourselves. Such I have found to be the case when describing the ocean. I can find no more accurate description of sunlight on the waves than to speak of the ever shifting colors of the sea. While undoubtedly poetic and overused, such a description is also unquestionably accurate.
Returning, we could see the jumbled towers of Panama City rising from the cloud banks in the distance, and wove our way through the mess of ships awaiting the Panama Canal.
The Wandering Sea 