Seasons

When the calendar mysteriously flipped back several months, we'd know Nana was done with February. Her sense of time deteriorating after ninety-eight years of life, Nana would ask when we would be leaving for the shore, forgetting the current season. Her conviction that these summer days were forthcoming reminded us of the nights spent on the porch under the yellow and white striped awnings, listening to her explanations of the blinking red and green lights which nocturnally directed the ships. Thus anticipating her imminent return to Manasquan, Nana would sit happily in her home as snow accumulated outside her window.