Walking from the house that sits next to the sound I can feel the stones under my feet. I come to the road. Look left, look right, left again, and then dash across. The stones become sand as I reach the dunes. You can’t see over the top, only the wooden staircase. Expecting rough, I feel the cool wood planks under my toes, their smooth from the years of sand rolling over them. As I walk down the boardwalk I see it, the ocean, as blue as can be. The wave tumbling over one another, the smell of the sweet salt air, the squawks of seagulls over head, and the feel of the soft cool breeze against my skin. I continue down to the sand. The sun is just rising, so the sand is cool. I walk to the water’s edge and feel the ice cold foamy water. It tickles my toes and I smile, because I know I am home. As I leave footprints in the sand along the water, I think of how this is not only my home, but my paradise, my happy place, y sanctuary, all mine.
Where Is My Home?
April 1, 2010