It was a cross between a fog and a light drizzle. There weren’t clouds so much as there was a moment when the sky dropped down and seemed almost touchable. Colors disappeared and were replaced by shades of gray and brown. The seagulls wheeled and cried, not caring whether the sun was out or not. Waves gently lapped and lulled us into a false sense of security that we could walk the waterline, luring us out just a bit too far and playfully soaking our shoes and sending us scurrying back to the safety of the sand. The salt in the air no longer had to compete with faux coconut sunscreen scents.
The rain kept most people off the beach, except for the romantics or the seashell seekers, happy to have less competition for treasures that the sea surrendered. It was easy to walk just a bit too far, only to turn around and realize just how long the walk back would be. Even without a warm sun beating down, we were drowsy and quiet on the boat trip back to the mainland. Even a week later a few grains of sand cling to socks whenever the shoes are used. Memories of a day at the beach.
