We cycled to this beach, taking a ferry along the way. A hot coffee on the ferry deck, sitting outside and up top, zipping up my down hoodie against the brisk morning wind. I pull a container of hulled strawberries from my pannier. Chris pulls out the same. We laugh at each other and share anyhow.

I emerge from the woods and lay my cycling clothes on the log.

“You’re going for it?” Chris asks.

I walk across the hot sand to the ocean. I wade in up to my knees. The tide is low, and I make my way slowly between the purple starfish and the bulbs of kelp. When I am deep enough, I dive down into the surf. The coldness penetrates into my hot muscles, and my skin tightens across my body.

Eyes open, the water clear, I search for sand dollars on the ocean floor. I dive down again and again, picking up shells. I stay at length in the cold water, embracing the sensation, loving the buoyancy. I can’t recall the last time that I swam in the ocean.

I return to the log and towel off my body. Wring my hair into the sand.

This, this is how the summer shall be.