Cannot come fast enough. I stroll through the surf for hours, searching for treasures. The ocean brings magic: rocks and shells and beach glass. Below, the rock in the middle is my fave, striated with quartz. I keep it in a small shrine in my front hallway.
All from Fire Island, I once brought handfuls like the smallest one to a man I knew; he carried them around in his pockets. I carry the one on the right to remind me that warm weather will come again.