The beach is home. Surrounded by waves I feel uneasy, but right at the shore, where the breakers hit the sand, I’m at peace. Here the waves are seldom capricious—soaring wintertime gale-driven breakers, or the smooth early-autumn laps more reminiscent of an inland pond.  The waves hit the sand like exhalations-sometimes panting, sometimes the quiet puffs of a sleepy giant.

I know this beach. I’ve met other beaches and even become friends with them, but I know this one like a brother. Even the irritating squeak of the sand becomes comforting in its familiarity. I once walked a beach where the sand was like mud. We didn’t get along. Here it’s so fine the grains rush over each other in their frenzy to flee the path of your feet—bringing to mind childhood chalkboard nail dragging. But it’s a small price to pay for a perfect hammock, and a free exfoliation to boot.

Water here is clear and cool, or warm and silty. But it never stings your eyes with salt. The breezes that come in off the lake are invigorating in their freshness. It’s almost as if someone wished for paradise: soft sand, azure waves, and no bite of brine to mar the Eden.

For many people, sea and beach are synonymous, but no matter how many calendars try to convince me otherwise, I’ll always think first of the shores of Mediterranean Sea.

Via CM