Tuesday, June 20, 2006


Summer is my favorite season. Always has been. Summer. The word evokes carefree days, tree climbing, warm evenings and longer twilights. Endless days at the beach – sand in my hair, salt crusted on my skin, sunburned arms, the smell of Coppertone – body surfing, boogie-boarding, floating on my back; blue blue sky above and no horizon until I find the shore and see the sand stone cliffs with sage and cactus and aloe clinging to the edges. The sound of waves crashing, seagulls calling, kids running with beach-towel capes. Reading for hours in my beach chair, dozing off eventually and dreaming the story – not knowing where I am when I first wake up.

I long for those days. Days of youth when school was my job and summer was my life. I live in a city now – one surrounded by water but with very few saltwater beaches. And no waves. Lake Union, Lake Washington, Greenlake, the Ship Canal, Elliott Bay, Puget Sound – not a wave to be found. No time to ride them either. The water is too damn cold anyway. Not that I’m complaining – it’s a beautiful place and I love living here. If we’re lucky, we get a good summer too. Clear skies, sunshine, not too much rain.

Still. I long for a beach that stretches for miles; and months for the beach and I to become acquainted.


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