The never-ending snow has me craving some sort of adventure. I long for the warmth of the sun, a salty breeze blowing, the smell of woodsmoke from the bonfire that still crackles from the night before. I wish for that sleepy but smiling feeling that happens after a particularly good night on the beach. I wish for splashing in the waves, the cold water washing the last bits of sleep from my brain. I wish for acoustic guitars playing softly over the splatter of our panfried breakfast. I am missing those slightly off-key harmonies that were inevitable after a night out in the salty mist.

Maybe it’s not adventure at all that I am craving, rather another time and place. My old comfort zone. The place I was once most happy, most at home, most comfortable in my own skin… I still often wonder if I need that salty sheen on my skin to truly recognize myself, if the smell of the sea is somehow connected with my feeling of identity.