I went to the Beach today. (As point of reference, my beach with a capitol B is Crescent Beach in Cape Elizabeth, which is, and always will be the epitome of beachiness to me.)
This is normally not a statement of much import, but the last time I was at the Beach was a blustery day in April, when the gates had not yet opened for the season, and I had to hike in over what was in some places a completely snow-covered access road.
In large part because of the June and July that gave us the wettest summer on record, I didn’t make it back to the beach until today. Today, the meadow was dominated by goldenrod and asters. There was a crispness to the air and certain tinge of blue to the sky that you never have in the summer. I know that summer doesn’t end until later in the month, but the seasons have turned, and this can lead me to only one conclusion.
I missed Summer.
There were other beaches, and lovely summer days I spent here in other parts of Maine, but in missing summer on my Beach, I missed something fundamental to that season. I’ve never denied that I love Fall far more than summer, but there are parts of summer I love dearly, like the monarch butterflies feeding on blooming milk weed, and the beach roses fully in bloom. I hadn’t realized the full impact the never ending rain of June and July had, until today. It was definitely a bittersweet visit to the Beach.