October 27, 2013
The beach is comforting for anyone willing to analyze the small beauties it brings. The angelic Carolina shore brings me pure joy. I taste the salt, feel the powdery terrain at my disposal, hear the joyous people nearby, and gaze at the magical place I call home. The ocean is my closest friend. I can relate to the sea on the darkest and brightest of days.
The darkest skies bring me comfort. A dreary dark sky lingers over the vast body of water. In times of pain the beach is the shoulder I lean on. I can feel the emotions of the land. Storms full of anger, winds rough enough to blow anyone’s negative energy away. When I am ...view middle of the document...
The sand is inviting, the surf is friendly, and the land is nurturing. The shore’s serenity and tranquility is a tease. Tourists travel to the Carolina shore to find peace and to escape reality for a brief moment. Brochures persuade that the beach is a spacious getaway from disturbance. More like a can of salty, slimy sardines. Good beach days result in packed beaches, zero space, and lots of sweaty people. Days with charming weather and placid waters are the days you are lucky to find a patch of space to lay your towel. On a windy day sand leaves rough carpet burns on your shins. Nothing is worse than eating a handful of chips seasoned in sand. Small broken shells crawl to every single sweaty crevice on your body, and sand flees are the worst. The most popular activity at the beach is tanning; everyone wants to look like a sun-kissed goddess. But no one is a goddess, and the overachievers end up with the nick name “lobster” for the remainder of their vacation. If you have long hair and go to the beach, be prepared for a bird’s nest of knots. If you are a heavy sleeper, apply your protective coat of SPF well. If you do not like fire, do not come around.
The cliché perfect beach day is one with gentle waters and high boiling temperatures. My picture perfect beach day is one that only occurs in the fall. I look left and right, and not a soul is in sight. Tourists have gone home, and the only footprints belong to locals. On my imaginary, ideal...