Art Walk

The wintry ocean reminds me of my father. We go to the beach in Florida every winter, the blankets of white sand, the icy waters crashing against the sharp rocks, the warmth of the sun bursting between shades of grey clouds. I remember how green it still was, when all had turned to brown back at home. I remember the joy of being away, and how fun it was to let go when I got the chance. There was no snow there, or ice. Life seemed to have passed though winter completely unaware of its absence. Winter, however, is my favorite seasons. Still, perhaps a break can be rejuvenating. When I would return home, it was as if I’d woken up from a dream. Reality, shockingly, still managed to survive perfectly well without me there. He always promised we’d go back next year. And we always have. I don’t intend to stop now, even when a time in my life is ending and another is beginning. I need to hold on to this tradition, even if it may seem childish. There are some dreams that you can come back to in your sleep, and this dream has always been an inviting one. I smile when I think of those trips to Florida with my dad, and I smile when I think of those journeys still yet to come. Sometimes I wonder if this dream will come to cease, forever. I hope not. Sometimes it can be nice not to have to wake up.