Nietzsche at the Beach

It isn’t summer, or the end of it, until I’ve been to the beach. I don’t mean a beach by a lake, where the waves loll and it’s mucky underfoot and you can see weeds growing on the bottom. Nor do I mean the bay-side beach where we sometimes go, though that’s pleasant enough. I need an honest ocean beach, with white sand dunes and a sea breeze that snaps the lifeguard’s flag, where your hair gets salty just sitting there and the surf slams and tosses foam and reminds you that there’s nothing but sea between you and Normandy.

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