There is a lonely sense of romanticism standing alone on the empty pier jutting into the sea. Lonely, because of the piercing wind and sad-sounding call of seagulls, but romantic because of memories that seem to lurk beneath the gray depth of the sea at my feet. Were it not for my McGill hoodie, it might have been like any evening in my youth. Evenings when I'd just grab the bike and brave the North Sea winds to catch a glimpse of the setting sun.
Despite the familiar salty smell, that tingling grains of sands against my skin, and the ever-changing display of colours in the dusking sky, circumstances have changed a lot. It was around this time last year that the foundations of the big move across the Atlantic to Canada were being laid. A year later, who would have thought the beach that lay behind the dunes would now be so far away and difficult to reach.
But wherever I live, I guess there will always be the wind, the sand and the sea in my memory.
