When we moved to the mountains years ago, we never expected to complain of traffic in our rural area. Today as I drove through the little town of Hiawassee, GA heading over to visit with friends south of Helen, I was surprised but pleased to see all the people here for the July 4th weekend.
Restaurants, gas stations, retail stores and grocery stores thrive on summer people. Summer people. That has a nice sound to it. Once I read a book about a town on the upper great lakes in which the summer people played a major role. At the time I lived in south west Georgia. I'd not ever thought about summer people. We were of all seasons - most of them warm.
I'd like to be a summer person staying on the coast of a quiet seaport. My small white cottage would boast a porch facing the sea where I could sit and read or write at my leisure. When I looked up I'd see small sailboats glistening on white-tipped waves that eventually reached shore, like a mother's hands smoothing out the wrinkles of the sand.
My dog and I would walk on pebbly beaches, wade in water the deepest shades of blue and green. I'd sit on high cliffs, and let the breeze muss my hair. I'd smell the pines, listen to the waves pound rocks below.
When the day was done, I'd feast on lobster dripping with butter, hard crusted rolls, and fine wine.
When I slept, the open windows would draw in the night. A gentle wind would cool my body making me one with the dark sky, the moon, the stars and the never ending changes of the oceans.
Hummm...Yes, I'd like to follow that dream.