How many of us would want to while away weekend hours on chairs dragged onto our home driveways? Granted, those surfaces are usually blacktop, which the sun turns into griddles.
But how many of us, if canvassed, would say we find the color of concrete under a cloudy sky timelessly soothing?
Who would say a scene such as this–in Margate, where I recently spent time with family–is only a place you rent and leave in the same condition you found it?
Not I.
And, I suspect, not many of us who have Jersey embedded in our souls like tread marks on a Pine Barrens sand road.
No, this quotidian scene, so placidly monochromatic, is one of summer’s sanctuaries—open to the narrow street, yet secluded enough for conversations that crackle for hours like briquettes and finally waft into the sky like smoke.
Every sanctuary needs a ritual, and what better time than late afternoon, when your skin tingles with salt and you gratefully partake of the outdoor shower’s pleasant patter of cool water on concrete.