Beach days in September are beautifully melancholic, in many ways.

 Melancholic because summer is over, everyone present knows summer is over and yet we still want to hold onto it, don’t want to let go, want to live in the illusion that we’ll forever be coming here, in the splendid warm sun.

 Melancholic because the beach is almost empty and the people who are there are mostly retired. It changes the vibe, it unexplainably brings a little sadness. The joy of summer is gone, the energy of children playing and splattering, mothers mothering, young people flirting and checking out each other’s almost naked body … It’s all gone and forgotten, washed away by the waves.

At the same time it’s beautiful because the few people who ARE there, are there purely and solely because they want to. In summer everyone runs to the beach because it’s the only place you can find a little relief from the brutal heath. September-people are there because they love the beach or the sea or both. And they enjoy it with every fibre of their blubbering, wrinkled body. There’s some kind of unspoken understanding, an unnamed sense of ‘only we know the real meaning of la dolce vita’.

 And this year, it was beautiful because today, on September 16^th, we finally had the weather and temperatures that used to be normal during July and August. A splendid sun that wants to caress you, not kill you. A golden warmth that kisses your skin instead of burning it away. Fresh water that makes your whole body tingle instead of a warm broth to soak in.

And then there is the melancholy of knowing that those lovely summers are a thing of the past that will only continue to exist in our memory.
And in September
before that becomes a memory as well.

clara