I've always loved the beach and ocean. Just listening to the rhythm of the waves as they crash upon one another, the warm feeling of the sun on my skin, the sand in my toes, the breeze through my hair and the smell of the sea easily transports me into my own utopia.
One summer I desperately needed to be at the beach where no sickness existed and I was invincible. Due to financial reasons, going to the beach was out of the question, so my Mom brought the beach to me.
We lived in a quite subdivision with lots of space between houses and people. Our backyard was quite and shaded by trees. There were two trees that were the perfect width apart for a hammock. My Mom used some wood and made a sand box underneath my hammock. She put sand and sea shells that were gathered from vacations past.
It became my personal beach that spring and summer. I would lie in the hammock for hours listening to ocean sounds or music from my Walkman, read and sometimes gently rock myself to sleep for a nap. I could feel the sun on my skin and feel my own beach sand between my toes.
My beach was my sanctuary. I hope my Mom still knows today how much "my beach" meant to me, and that I think of it often.
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Your imiagery of the beach is so strong. I can picture you lying in the hammock, with your foot trailing in the sand, the sun, the heat, even the sound of the water and the dapple light of the shade. This word picture reminds me of a series of paintings by Steve Hanks, who paints one particular women in this seris of scences from her life.
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