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“We shall find peace. We shall hear angels. We shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.” –Anton Chekov
When you hit the beaches in the summer time here in Florida, the sun is always glad to bake the sand beneath your feet. Yellow gold grains that look white by mid-day are soft and small; not like the craggy rocks and endless pebbles I remember from my youth on the shores of Nova Scotia.
It’s near unbearably hot in the summer. I am not so much of a fan of the kind of oppressive heat that we see in mid August, but when winter comes–oh when it comes–it reminds me strangely of spring.
I like the backwards-ness of my thinking it spring. In the winter, there is that fresher, newer, crispness to the air which the humidity of july lacks. The sun still bakes the sand beneath your feet but the roar of the ocean promises much more and brings with it brine tainted air. The smell of the sea lingers coolly in your mouth, nose, hair and clothes so that when you leave, you can take that moment of ocean-zen with you.
I love the beaches in winter, less people there to mar a horizon of beach, sky, sand and ocean that seems to stretch on forever and reminds me how small and wonderful all of us are.
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