Yes, I’m “home” — wriggling my toes into the warm, soft sand, rejoicing as each wave curls and arcs and reaches and throws herself, once again, onto the land. Watching the legs, whether long and stick-like or almost invisible, of miscellaneous creatures that call both land and sea “home.” We are each one of them in mysterious ways, don’t you think?

But mostly, I’m a total captive to the wind. No city air can compete with the endless and ever-present breeze that brings her bounty across the sea and takes me whole.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Pawleys is one of our staples at Wild Hair Adventures (girl trips!), and I have no doubt that our significant others would be surprised to get a peak at what we do. We create, we talk about the things that we’ve discovered in life, we cook, we eat, we dance (sometimes wildly), we watch the seemingly endless motion of swaying sea oats sending down their roots to stabilize the land, and we take lots and lots and lots of pictures. Yesterday I watched cranes catching fish with their big scoopy bills, seiners casting nets again and again and again, and night fishermen settled into the dark in peace and solitude.

But mostly, we breathe. We breathe the salt air. We breathe roadside flowers. We breathe the marsh grasses. We breathe the colors of sunsets. We breathe in time and love and space, and it fills us with everything good in life.

I think I was born with sand between my toes, and it has nourished me well.