OBX

We're back (dammit), sun-baked, saltwater-soaked, and sand-encrusted.

A week on Hatteras isn't enough. It takes a few days to slow the pace, to get into the sweet routine of doing nothing. Just when you've fallen into the rhythm of food, sun, water, sleep, it's time to brush off, pack up, and drive back up Highway 12, along that little ribbon of dunes and salt marsh, watching next week's vacationers stream down that same ribbon for their share of la dolce vita.

Somehow seawater and sunlight have the power to wash and burn away anxiety. They turn us into browned, slack, and shambling beach bums, whose most challenging task is to secure a supply of soft-shelled crabs and a bottle of something cold to wash them down.

But we're back (dammit).