It’s after five. The sun still burns bright in the cloudless Florida sky where the temperature is a cool 99 degrees. In this kind of heat, the air is heavy with moisture, the salty wind softly glides across your constant perspiring face, and the ocean is like a wavy steam caressing your skin.
I can sit here on a tan lawn chair, under a blue umbrella, number 519, forever, while watching foamy-white waves cuddling the sand, listening to excited giggles of children and deciphering the multi-cultured languages of the surrounding adults.
I don’t want to leave here. I just want to stop the time and live in this wasted moment. Yes, wasted moment. Moments that I’m not rushing to check off “to-do lists”, laundry, grocery shopping, and rearing two very energetic little girls. Oh, not to mention, writing in the middle of the night.
I’ve been waiting for this recharge all year-long, and now, I know it’s going to end. Soon, I’ll be heading back to my “normal” hum of life. And I’m okay with that, slightly, even as I push my feet deeper into the sand, letting the granules massage my toes.
With every blink, I am visually snapping images of this place and locking away the sounds and smells of the ocean. So, at any given time, whenever that be, I can close my eyes, and come here in my mind; this God-created and awe-striking nature, where the Earth and the Sea hold hands somewhere on a beach…
