Imagine a small fishing village by the ocean.
Piers and harbors, bays and coves. Little creeks running out of the forest and across the sand into the ocean. Sea shells. Beachcombers. Mussels and oysters, clams and crabs.
Breakers that crash like thunder, wind that cries like a foghorn. Stones rattling against each other, pushed and pulled by the riptide. Waves murmuring as they rush back from the beach.
Tourists and summer jobs, bandanas over salt and sun-bleached hair, short dresses, tans, and sand sticking to toes. Winter storms, gore-tex pants and coats with hoods.
Legends and buried treasure. Driftwood and shipwrecks.
Whales and seals and sea lions that bark instead of roar. Fish and sea anemones, starfish and hermit crabs.
Old men and old women, young men and young women, and the sea.