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The beach is a true and faithful muse. The sound of pulsing waves sucking in and expelling to a crash, the taste of the salt, the grains of sand between your sinking toes. The smell of kelp. And, of course, that blue and unending expanse. Each time I visit, the scene recurs in my dreams for several nights. You swim and float and fight the waves there until you get tired; which, for me, isn’t very long. Maybe an hour or two. And when you leave the water, the air feels so light on your chest and shoulders, the wind so sharply cold and bright. Skin coated and clean. I always sigh, turning back to see the horizon. Blue on both sides. Sky and sea like a Rothko.