at the beach

// Just because writing on the front porch, with view on the lake, is nicer than being in front of a computer, and because the sound of pen on paper is (sometimes) a prettier sound than pressing keys, I've written this in my little, leather bound notebook. Thanks to a dear friend (you know who you are), for this beautiful birthday present, I've journaled every night because of it. //

This evening is our first of the year at the coast, at our coast. We've been coming here for five years, twice a year. This Lake Tabourie is beautiful, one of my favourite places in Australia.
I love that evenings are spent reading outside just when the sun is dipping into the lake, and the silver fish are flopping out of the water, or inside if it's raining. I love that the beach is only a six minute walk away, I love that we have time to even measure these kind of crazy statistics, I love that more than a handful of people on the expanse of the whole beach is considered crowded for us.
I love that nights spent watching a movie is happily traded in for a night of board-games, and playing Uno. I love that, I can wonder off whenever and wherever. I love that it is a retreat from all the hectic-ness (aha, that's not even a word is it?) of everyday life, and the drama of school. Here, I can swim in the sea three to four times a day, I can spend the whole day with my nose in a book, and that things are so simple and straight forward.
You see someone crossing your path? 'Hello, beautiful day for the beach, dontcha think?' Yes, I do think.

At seven o'clock, with the moon out, and the clouds fluffy my hair thick with sea salt and the wind and the sand, and my feet bare, yes, I do think.