It's all coming to an end. The once booming little tourist town is now saying it's goodbyes to the last of the ever-faithful beach dwellers. The pier that seems to have just opened, is now wrapping up all the vendors and rickety rides leaving them as a memory. And as the bus loads of people scramble out of this one road town, I pass them on the way in. Making my way by the sandy shops, the locals are winterizing each sun-beaten board and each pane of glass. This is the time that I enjoy the ocean the most. The time where the crimsons and peaches of the sky dance along the tops of the waves. The time where you can truly enjoy this salty town for all its worth. To some people this time of year wouldn't be as ideal as the middle of summer, but for me it's not about the tan or sunkissed hair, it's about getting to know the locals all over again. It's about having late night bonfires with the crisp coastal air making the sparks fly. A time where you can watch a hurricane with all it wonder rage through the small town. The only time where being a local and a tourist go hand in hand. Most importantly it's about finding myself again. This is the time where I can do just that. I may not be able to surf or swim for much longer, but I'll be able to truly find and be the person that the other seasons back home seem to hide. To me there's not just four seasons, there is one we always forget. Indian summer.
