The beach of the Gulf of Mexico, treasure island,Madeira beach,Clearwater…my growing up play ground.
Mom and me, it was the after school destination. We lived 2 miles away, barely a warm up for our 68 mustang.
The sun baked deap into our bones,healing some of the ackwardness of being different. She a handicaped single woman,me a lonely only fatherless.
The thundering surf yelled equality to everone. January the Canadians came ,February the snow birds of the northeastern states came..I was there all year. By bike I road the miles from redington shores to treasure island. I would drop my zipping rod and real at johns pass bridge.
Best of all I learns nature. Shells and girls. Both with unmatched beauties,both could make allot of noise. But both held my study.
Frightening it was also. At night when camping, the water was warm,but there where scary looking fins floating around,the darkness of the water seemed deeper then in the day. I stayed in the sleeping bag, it was always wet from the daily rain.
I go when I have the means to the closest beach I can find. New Jersey beaches aren’t quite the same, but I stare and remember.
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