Beach Souls

The beach is my home, where my soul feels it belongs. This has been true since childhood when I had the great fortune of having a best friend whose family owned a home on a private beach. The ocean was our backyard on weekends and for full summer weeks. I learned the temperaments of the ocean, an inconsistent and volatile lover; how she could soothe one moment and rage at you the next. The beach in the evenings are particularly magical because it is then that the tourists -- "the bennies" as they are called with not much affection here in New Jersey -- go home and the true beachers emerge. And I can spot them. Laugh if you must, but I sense them; their spirits emitting something like an elixir of ancient wisdom and preternatural serenity. It often reveals itself as the most beautiful, kindest "don't give a fuck" possible because only the connection with the water and sand matter. 

This man had it. And it was beautiful.