One night a group of people were playing guitars and a saxophone, I think, just jamming on the beach. The music had a folky-rock feel and we found ourselves dancing under the stars. Those stars were the brightest ever and I swore they were dancing along with us.
Most evenings we would catch ourselves standing solid on the sand to feel it caress our feet and make its mushy way through our toes. The cool sand, the warm breeze, the vast horizon of water and waves can only bring you closer to God. And so our evenings would lull us peacefully into the night.
Each morning we would wander down to the beach, coffee in hand, watching the seagulls gather their meals. Huge rocks – perfect for sitting- carved their way out of the sand. The quiet of the morning broken only by the sounds of the sea, and the laughter and screeching of my son and daughter as they broached the waves. Surfers gathered their boards and waded into the foamy wash. Further down appeared the silhouettes of fishermen and their poles jutting out of the sand. I was at peace, with his hand gently perched upon my shoulder. My skin tingled in anticipation of the tickle of his beard, which I knew would come as his breath danced lightly with kisses on my neck. This is the man I married, so many years ago, broad shouldered, tall and strong, always the foundation upon which my family grows. It may have been the summer heat, or the feel of the east air, I do not know, but like that twenty-year-old girl not so long ago; I fell in love again and turned my face into his kiss. Montauk on a summer’s morning is all one could ever need to make a little magic real.
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