How many times can I write about the beach?
Endless times apparently.
Early spring in the South finds me digging my toes in the sand with the ocean breeze washing over me.
I always feel it. The release of stress and tension.
The sound of the gentle surf becomes white noise and pushes all nagging thoughts out of my head.
The suns rays land on my shoulders and warm my soul.
The smile that was buried beneath the layers of winter and long travel pushes it's way to the forefront and I can't hide it anymore.
Some people talk to therapists. Others resort to self-medicating. My cure-all is the beach.
While I love lazing upon the hot sand and soaking up the sun, what I really, truly love is just the beach in general.
I love the beach even when I have to wear long pants and shoes. It's better when I can grind my bare toes in the sand, but the beach is my centering focus.
I can walk for miles in the surf. Walking and talking and poking dead sea creatures with a stick.
As the breeze ruffles my hair I begin to feel lighter in mood and spirit.
My laugh comes easily as the sun cleanses my aura.
We walk hand-in-hand for miles.
My foot prints left behind me are washed away as the gentle waves erase proof that I was there.
I always feel that when I witness that, that in reality my footprints are the bits of stress I'm walking away from and that the ocean erases the evidence.
The more footprints I leave behind to get sucked out with the tide, the less stress I will have.
The sun kisses my skin and the wind blows my hair and I smile.
I'm with you doing something I love. That relaxes me to no end.
Why is it that we live so far from the ocean again?
