Coastward.

In a mere matter of hours, I’ll be headed here:

To spend some time tucked up cozy between the pages of a few good novels, working out the kinks in my muscles and the aches in my bones. To turn my face sunward, my toes sandward, my ears seaward. There are few ills a week on the Carolina coast can’t cure, fewer worries this island can’t quell.

It has been my summer escape since before I could walk or talk. But it is so much more than a vacation, so much bigger than just the beach. It is the path to the very best bits of your soul. The alive ones, the peaceful ones. It sounds crazy, but that’s only because it’s so much more than words. So intangible it demands a far better artist than myself to paint its likeness.

But once you know, you know. Once you’ve heard the late afternoon drone of insects in the trees, or seen the fish dance in the creek at sunset, or sat on a porch in a rocking chair, or felt the breeze in a hammock, you know.

It’s something about this place. Something so base and so simple but impossible to pinpoint precisely.  But if you come here, you’ll feel it. And like the many we’ve taken here, you’ll find it difficult not to return.