Memory

The night before was spent sleepless, giggling under the covers. We wound our way under lowered skies across Florida's spine to the Atlantic, off for a beaching weekend. The rain never stopped, but slackened enough to tease us out of the car. We were damned if we were going to go all that way without at least walking on the beach! After five miserable minutes huddled squinting into a drving spray, we headed back to the hotel room and broke out the picnic basket (complete with cheap sangria) on sheets instead of sand. A few hours later we woke up to Beck singing on television, drawing us and a sit-down crowd out of sleep and into his show. We slid back into dreaming until the next morning then drove home in the grey light after the storm, bathed in the glow of new-washed green.