We had a good couple weeks of surf this July.
If you had the right boards, you could have fun everyday. Warm water, warm air, and the rare sensation of feet on wax and h20 through fingers. (Aside from the hurricane). No one saw it coming.
The bouy readings indicated lake like conditions but the swell just happened to come from some magically perfect direction. Heaven sent, perhaps. When there is surf on this strange island, you paddle out and you capitalise on every last wave and you put it in the bank because there’s always a flat spell on the horizon. When the water is warm, you swim because winter and your first duck dive induced ice cream headache is just around the corner. Summer love is hot and heavy, when you know your baby is leaving.
She’s always on her way out the door. Don’t come here expecting to surf, especially in the summer. Don’t go thinking this is normal, it’s not. Save your surf trip dollars for burgers and fries. Gifts like these only arrive once you stop wanting. When you’ve check the bouy on the hour for weeks straight, compared each and every forecast, drove up and down the coast to no avail; when you have finally surrendered to the summer and given up all hope, that’s when she comes knocking at your door. Like all good thing, it will end before you have a chance to say so long, bon voyage or stay! Please? Now, already, it feels like a dream.
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