The cure for too much world

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This past month two forever friends and I set out for a several day getaway in St. Augustine.


(The United States’ oldest continually-operating city.)

(Previous parenthetical blurb brought to you by the Tourist Board of St. Augustine.)

(Which never lets you forget this . . . it’s inscribed everywhere you turn, on every plaque, every info bit, every bit of touristy flotsam floating through that town.)

The last afternoon found Ras and I abandoning all pretense at adulthood in the surf. There we were, two fifty-somethings standing our ground where the waves broke, punching at the white walls of froth that crashed our way, fighting Poseidon’s minions and sending them reeling.

It was something two ten-year olds would do — or two adults freed from convention. What exhausting fun to stand against wave after wave that Poseidon sent to topple us. Those waves eventually slapped us silly, though we felt we had the upper hand until the very end.

There are times when a long walk down the beach is what calls the spirit forth. Other times it’s leaping into the surf and channeling your inner supergeekhero.

Play is the best antidote to too much civilization in your bones.

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