Some of my favorite moments would be stormy days along our coast. The skies begin to subtly turn a moody shade of gray. While everything green becomes a touch more vibrant with anticipation of the rains.

Stirred up from the coming storm the ocean churns and grumbles. Swelling her voluminous waves, while spraying frothy foam in a show of dominance and power.

Solid structures built by man who usually stand proudly defiant of the sea, now seem as frail as a house built of sticks. Riding out the storms with bated breath.

The wind whips and stirs up a fog of pelting sand. Encompassing a few lone souls, who can’t help but be drawn to the elemental forces around us, like moths to a flame.

Even the worn old oaks have learned to bend and twist to the will of the wind. All but contorting themselves into something alien and separate from their brethren growing inland.

As with all storms they eventually pass and dissipate. The winds die down, the ocean clams and life in all its varied forms return to the shores.

The sun comes out, a canopy of Carolina blue streams overhead and youthful energy abounds.

I am romanced by it all.


Tickled Red