Wind freshening from the northwest, carving herringbone olive textures in the wave faces; temperature dropping.  Dark clouds bloom overhead and on the water.  The rustle of palm fronds the only sound.  In the westerlies the ocean is almost silent, even close.  Wind-groomed and controlled, what sound it makes is carried out to sea. A line of pelicans beating up wind turns one by one in an exquisite arc and reverses direction, gliding now. Anticipation and air are electric.