Twenty years ago I moved from a sleepy beach town in the south of my state to the busy metropolitan area where I now reside. Not by deliberate choice, so much-- it was all about relationships: who I knew, who I lived with, who I loved. That's how I got to the beach, too. In fact, that's how and why I have ever lived anywhere.
Yesterday I finished packing and cleaning my classroom; I met with my principal, said good-bye to my colleagues, and sat in on an interview for a new teacher on my team. At 5 PM I closed the door on my locked desk, papered bookshelves, and clearly-labeled boxes. This morning we packed the car in a thunderstorm and headed south, bound for that same beach town and a week-long vacation in a big house right on the ocean with my whole family.
This evening our dog chased a ball through the surf, leaving crescents of ragged claw-shaped prints across a field of tiny air bubbles in the flat, wet sand. Tonight the stars fill the sky in a way that is impossible in the light-washed nights of the city where I live. What will tomorrow be like?