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Dillon Beach

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I walked along the beach that evening.
You can't see the sunset through the cloud and mist.
My legs are already numb, though I have yet to set foot in the vast, ever living, ever changing ocean. The wind hits my legs like needles. The sand between my toes feels like ice. I'm shivering and numb and cold. The rocks hurt my bare feet. Rocks. We were getting closer to the ocean. My hair is blown into my face, and my hands are sticky from the salt air. We made it over the last dune, and I let the dog go. He begins to play with the swell. Chasing, then retreating. Over and over again.
I reach the shore line, and run to the ocean. The swell comes to greet me. As the icy waves crash at my feet, spraying me with salt water, I realize that, despite the cold, despite, the wet, despite the numb and rocks and sand, I had never felt so much adrenalin, so much euphoria. The gloomy atmosphere is just one little part of Dillon Beach.





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