In Paradise there is nothing to stop the wind that flows across the Gulf of Mexico onto the white sandy beaches. It actually races instead of flows during the late fall months driven by the warm waters of summer, dumping shells, seaweed, small sea creatures and whatever else is in its path. It seems to want to wipe the surface of the ocean clean. It wants to start fresh, as do I.
Many of the worshipers at the shrine of the tropical waves hide indoors during this service, because they are suddenly afraid of the power of something as simple as moving air or perhaps afraid of how weak they are in its presence. Small air molecules joining with surprising force in their demands can suddenly get our attention. When they really want our attention they lift things that we cannot.
I had the beach almost totally to myself.