I’m dreaming of summer.
I’m really hoping that the
coastal whacking that the Blizzard of 2015 gave the coast hasn’t altered my
favorite beach too terribly. A couple of
years ago, a series of unusual winter storms brought more rocks to the beach
and made it a crappy year for swimming there.
The following year, a series of harsh storms took the rocks away again,
and my favorite beach was right back to its beautiful, sandy old self.
I could go to the beach
during the winter. My friend and I have
done this, watched the brave but insane souls surfing in the icy north
Atlantic. Sure, wet suits are helpful
except when their feet and hands get wet or they go face-down into the frigid water;
it’s still damn cold. Ask the Titanic
victims who ended up in that ice-laden water … oh, wait…
So today, after two days
of snow and hours of clean up, I am dreaming of the beach. I am dreaming of summer, my toes in the sand,
the two-plus mile walk down the beach and back at low tide; sitting amongst the
protection of the break-wall rocks when it’s high tide.
Summer – you cannot arrive
soon enough for me. My cracked and dry
winter skin misses you; my stone-cold bones miss you; my sun-deprived brain
misses you. I miss the smell of the
salty air and the sound of the constant surf.
Summer, you may still be
months away, but I am and forever dreaming of you.
