Maybe some summer night.

We are on the long, long Mediterranean beach called San Niccolò at Buggerru in Sardinia. On Saturday afternoon. The sun is low in the sky. Not long before sunset. Partly cloudy. And I'm less than enamored with driving the winding mountain roads back home. Especially after dark. So I am half-kidding and half serious when I suggest to my true love that we stay on the beach. Yes, through the night. It would be a bit chilly by dawn. But it's the romantic thing to do. Albeit, absurd. But that's part of my notion of the romantic. It'll be memorable. Something we might cherish years from now. My true love nixes the idea. She's a little less daring. Next, I suggest checking into a quaint hotel in the quaint village of Buggerru. Even though we haven't prepared for an overnight stay. We can improvise. But again, I fail to prevail. And I'm only second in command. Which is all right. Because I have divided feelings myself. But I am falling in love. With the beach. Especially when the sun rays break through a patch of clouds. Like beams from heaven. Filtering down to the sparkling sea. Beautiful. We take photographs. To preserve the moment. I sit on the sand and write a few notes. About the experience. I am blissfully happy. At this moment. At this place. And I'm ready to stay the night. So I can savor it all. On and on. Forever. Through the night. With my true love. If it gets too cold, we can warm ourselves in the car. But we make our way home. After dark. Peacefully. Savoring the experience. We have a nice supper. At home. So tonight I'll dream. A lofty, pleasant dream. About spending the night on the beach. Maybe some summer night. --Jim Broede