If there’s a truer, plainer pleasure than the sea, I have yet to greet it. I love the kitsch, the candied air, the boardwalk romance, but what I love the most is the promise between the foam and me. You slide beneath the wave, and for a moment you pray: the space between a sweet ride and a snapped neck is part of the magic. A random act of physics. Sure enough, you’re tossed back to the shore, but not without a burning throat and an eyeful of sand. But this is what you asked for.
Photos: by my mother and me
Seashore: Ogunquit, Maine