Day 10: Missing the Beach

I love the mountains and cool weather here in Georgia, but many days I find myself thinking about the beach. It isn't always a specific beach, but just beaches in general.

Here are just a few things that come to my mind when I start daydreaming about the beach.

I think about the shell-covered beaches of San Fernandina and the windchime-like sound that the empty husks make as they are struck by the pounding salt water. The sounds of laughter as vacationers play in the water. Dolphin fins catching the light off in the distance as they weave in and out of the water.

I miss the southern California beach where giant waves crash on treacherous rocks that jut out from the swell. Surfers in wet suits are framed by the sheer saltwater-carved cliffs. The far off drone of the Beach Boys is caught on the wind as it’s blown from a nearby party.

The never ending summer beaches of Brazil come to mind, where rain forest covered mountains meet tropical sandy waters. Iguanas bask in the sun alongside the tanned bodies of Brazilian beach goers. Palm trees sway in the cool breeze and the smell of seasoned meat roasting over a fire is carried upon it.  I miss the cold and foggy pebble-covered beaches of England. The smell of freshly made fish and chips wafting around in the chill air. Pale gentlemen in their ivy caps slowly walking along the shore, searching for things washed upon the pebble-strewn landing.

I consider the chilly beaches of the Pacific Northwest. Clams spurting water in the air, seals barking, the spray of a distant orca pod on the horizon. Clusters of islands off the coast covered in evergreen trees and rocks. Crystal clear tide pools trapping unforeseen amounts of alien life in their cold prisons. Minuscule crabs scuttling under rocks as they sense the danger of a passing gull. Most of all I miss my own beach; Cocoa Beach. The soft sand, the smell of fresh salty air, and the pier looming in the distance. Planes buffeted by the wind, towing banners as they fly above. A massive cruise ship blows its foghorn as it embarks from Cape Canaveral in search of ocean adventure. A distant rumble of fighter jets as they protect the base may be mistaken for an afternoon thunderstorm. Old men flying kites, children building sand castles, and sea turtles snacking on the green algae growing on the jetty.  

That’s my beach.