As I pull clothes out of suitcases sand falls through my fingers. Our clothes still moist and smelling of the ocean, but when I breathe in deeply I do not feel my breath of simple ingredients that I have taken in so effortlessly, mostly, these past days - salt, water, sun, horizon. And that ocean smell is no longer fresh and briny. Now it is dank and saturated in the fibers, a memory. And sand is sand.
It takes me a few days upon returning from travels to come back to my senses. I am processing, remembering, stowing stories in my mind. Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened. I must remind myself. For now, a little local flavor.
