I wish I were at the beach. Even if it were Old Orchard Beach in Maine, I'd rather be at the beach than here. I could put on a sweater over my t-shirt and shorts, and walk along the water's edge freezing off my kneecaps and loving every second of the sensation. The air would be salt-laden, a wonderful lung-cleansing tonic for the soul, and the wind would tousle the seagrass. I would watch the kestrels darting up and over the dunes and listen as they called to each other. The sound of waves alternately caressing then crashing against the rock outcropping up ahead would bring my blood pressure down as if by magic, and I would be free from the constant worries of my life. Free.

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