Last week I spent a few days in Coronado, a little island just over the bridge from San Diego. My mom came out from Arizona to meet me there. In the early evening she would sit in front of the tv, resting from our day's outing. I would head over to the beach, only a couple of blocks away, to walk on the sand.
I like the way the beach sounds. Muffled. The waves sound distant although they are not. When I stood at the very edge of the ocean and kept my balance as the peripheral vestiges of the Pacific gathered around my feet, I looked at the color of the water and could vividly imagine its saltiness. The taste filled my mouth.