joie de vivre

You kind of just forget everything else when you're there, at the ocean. Your senses are so full that there's no room for anything else--no memories, just culminations of time all pressed into one. The loud, frothing waves that strew the shoreline with foam, reminiscent of the best part of a latte. The bracing, salt-tinged wind. Fluttering shorebirds, constantly trying to evade the incoming tide, occasionally failing. The grains of sand that threaten to rub your skin raw. You have your camera in hand, and desperately click the shutter button in a feeble attempt to capture the unassuming grandeur of the world at hand, but it's not enough so you wrap it in your cast-off cardigan , leave it in safety on the dunes, and give yourself up to the sea, the sky, the sound. For a moment, you just stand at the edge, feet slowly being buried in the sand, but then an irresistable urge seizes you--one that causes you to not care about what other people think. So you twirl and run and spin and splash until you're laughing and wet and out of breath, caught up in what it is to really live, bursting with joie de vivre, willing the moment to continue endlessly. Oh, how you've missed the sea. 
(listen.) p.s. this past week I've been in florida, thus the summer-y photograph and words.