Over a week ago, on my last day off I went driving around to my favorite local places. Growing up in Mansfield Grove was a sun-laden magic only summers of youth know. My grandparents’ had a seaside cottage filled with love and sandy toes and nautical decor.
I loved going down to the beach and swimming until I found the mystical sandbar, I felt like a mermaid or maybe a water pixie in my bright 90’s style bathing suit. I found serenity in spending time with my brothers, my dad, my cousins, my extended family. Things change, of course, as you get older.
Standing on the beach alone on one of those gloomy almost electric days, I began to think. I began to think how being by the sea, by the little part you called a seasonal home was still magic as you got older. But a different kind of magic. One that glosses over past sunburns or tears of that dark summer your father passed away and makes you want to write love letters to the place you spent so many summers under the sun. A love letter to family, to a summer haven, to the sea, to youth, to the sweetest seashells you ever did see.