My parents raised my brother and me on a naked beach. My earliest memory is of feeling the cool embrace of the sea while in the safety of my mom’s warm arms.

As I grew older, it became a morning routine to wake up, run bare-skinned out of the house and across the cool morning sand, and dive into an oncoming wave. If it were summertime, I would scour the beach for sea glass, especially the blue or green ones because they are rare. In my search, there was always an interesting seashell or starfish to find. Mom liked driftwood, which I usually found tangled in seaweed.

When my small pail was full of sea treasures, the beach would be dotted with other nudists ready for the sun or a game of volleyball or surfing if the waves were large enough. Everyone knew me by name, as I knew theirs. It was usually the grandparent types that arrived early in the day, towards noon the families would arrive and we kids would play all day in the sand.

In the evening, my family would often gather on the deck and sit around a firepit as the night settled upon us and the sea breeze picked up. Sometimes we would see lightning storms out at sea and I would be in awe at some of the most beautiful lightning displays. At night, from my bed, I could catch the full-moon hanging low in the sky with her moonbeams fanned out across the moving sea making the moonbeams dance and glitter.

I no longer live on the Ocean, but at night I dream of her cool embrace.