I am happiest when...

On the water. The sea breeze. The feel, of course, but the sound, the smell. Salt and sulfur and *nature*. I miss the ocean. The boardwalk. It was my second home. Just across the street. I walked it every morning and every evening. A sunrise didn't pass. Lighting the black and blue of the waves with pink-gold, the skies blushing golden. On stormy days, the clouds billowed and the waters rose and sloshed over the railing, and the lapping waves dashed me with salt and sea spray. I wrote countless stories on the park benches. A tiny notebook, my dog curled beneath it, countless faces passing by — or none at all. I learned the guitar on that beach, in the summer, three years ago. A cheap thing I bought off Amazon because I had dreams of playing on the sand while picnickers tipped pennies into my bag. It was a disappointing, of course. I'm a dreamer, and my imagination is so much grander than the real thing. It didn't stop me from playing every day until my fingers bled. Someone asked if I was playing for me or for my dog, and I, the ever-skeptic, snidely told them that animals don't process musical pacing like people do. And I walked. I met the dogs before I met their humans. In fact, I greeted the owners as if they *were* the dogs. Look them right in the face and say, "Hi, Beach! Hi, Cooper!" And then they'd smile and wave and meet my eyes and say "Hi, Basil!" Because we're dog people.