I’ve had an unusual summer in that I haven’t spent almost any time with my very good, close and personal friend, the beach. It’s just sort of worked out that way, but I see that with August pretending to be a contender in the Indie 500, I better get my bathing suit on, or I’m going to be laying in a pile of yellow and red leaves with snow in the forecast.

I did manage to have a few hours on Sunday at Nantasket Beach, but it was high tide, making a very crowded day hard to find a spot of your own, so we were forced to settle on some rocks, which were not the most comfortable, near water that seemed to be holding all of the ice cubes in the freaking world. Gah. Not my idea of a day at the beach, but still, the smell of sunscreen, the sound of the waves, the eventual emptying of the shore still spoke to me personally, telling me all the reasons it loves me as much as I love it.

The beach has always put me in a coma of calm, always put my anxiety in the naughty chair, allowing me to be my most relaxed self. Grateful to have somewhere that knows me so intimately and accepts me so thoroughly.