Wish You Were Here

Though tinged with the toiled remnants of a thunderstorm, the waves lapping Surf City's shores were calm yesterday morning under cloud-dappled skies.

Two weeks had slipped by since my last visit; in that span, July turned to August. August, the month when summer slows, each day's minutes rolling past slowly in the thick summer heat. The dog days of summer, when the slow bake of the South has usually dried everything to a husk. This year, though, the trees, the fields, the grass are all still green. Still lush. Still giving off the smell of verdant life.

I dug my toes into the sand and looked out at the lazy waves. I would not use my board this day; I lolled in the sweet breeze, chatting with my friend Jessica. Later we bobbed in the storm-chilled water, and later still wandered far south down Topsail.

Normally I wander north, towards the pier. But yesterday we trod south, towards and past this little gem.

I wondered what it would be like to drink coffee on that deck in the damp summer morning light. Wondered more what it would be like in winter, with the tang of salt carried on the chill.

A slow day at the beach but still passing all too swiftly, Jess and I agreed.

We headed back north to the sandflats, driving through rain.
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We both did not want the day to end; so we stretched it into the evening, headed back south to Kinston. Enjoying some beer at Mother Earth Brewing with pizza from Chef and the Farmer. We made a friend and, when the MEB's tap room lights turned out for the night, headed over to The Red Room. Paid our $1 to become a member and settled into a wooden booth under a wall of album art.

The rain came and went. The smokers huddling under an umbrella fit for an elephant.

And we drank from mason jars and over-sized wine glasses and conversated. Golden from the beach, pink cheeked from the laughter.

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Some days are heart-breakingly wonderful in their simplicity; in the midst of it, the thought constantly runs across my mind:

I wish you were here.