The weather: 80 degrees. Slight breeze. A few fluffy clouds drifting over Technicolor blue skies.
The people: chill. Aloha and mahalo. No shoes, no shirt, no problem. Drivers wave you across crosswalks with a smile. Wet footprints leading down the sidewalk to the beach. Worn surfboards held aloft like waiters hold heavy serving platters, offerings to the ocean.
The agenda: nonexistent. I abandon my "city walking" pace in favor of more of an amble. Wet sand, unstable footing, wet toes. I spread the beach towel, lie here for awhile and let the sun sweep its rays across my pale, pale body. No judgement here. The only requirement for a beach body is having a body.
The result: a sort of bliss that only a teacher knows, a teacher who is convinced January and February had approximately 124 days in them. Each.
I think I'm going to like it here.