Dark hair glistening, her feet raced across the frigid winter sand.   We braced against the cold and imagined summer.   We, perhaps just I, will never feel the warm southern sun as it creeps across the gulf.   I will only yearn for the smallest glimmer on her skin, the light moisture that warns of the pressing heat held at bay.  

It is only memory now, that shuttered coastal town solemnly pining for spring.   I long for spring, only in truth, I know for me it will not come.   There is no season that will release me from the memory of those deserted beaches.  

I breathe.  I wrap myself in her absence.  I dream of Destin.