The ocean breeze, in tousled updrafts, invites us to raise our eyes toward the denim horizon.
The ocean breeze comes in playful waves, washing over us with a sweet and salty essence.
The light as gone but there is no mistaking where we are. Through the moonless night comes the rhythmic pounding of the waves and always the salty air moving gently over our skin, flicking the tiniest grains of sand into our semi-closed eyes.
A cool draught of air whips over the waves, bringing a taste of the ocean with it. It is the unseen part of the shoreline that conjures more memories than the pebbles or the rotting posts of the old pier. It howls in a low whistle, tossing my hair every bit as roughly as the ocean at my feet. It is the feel and taste of home.
The ocean breeze is enough to blow errant strands of hair back toward the road behind, but not sufficient to bring the keen bite of winter wind. Yet the sand is so cold underfoot that this will be my last barefoot walk of the season, next time will be in boots and woollen socks.
In these sultry days even the ocean breeze is hot. The shore is more reminiscent of opening an oven on baking day than standing on the sand, salty waves engulfing bare toes.
The ocean breeze coats Greg's skin in a light mist of brine leaving it salty to taste. When we get home every kiss will remind us of the waves that pound the beach in white foam spray, but right now it's just the perfect coolness to keep our minds right here in the present where we're happiest.
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