Beginning with the high tides passionately kissing the shore as the sun rises it softly fades to a hum before reaching another crescendo as the sun sets.
On Sundays you can have music for breakfast at Social, join the wenches singing hymns in Bar Church in Bennie's or under the sunshine at Marlin Monroe's.
Like the salt that sticks to your skin, songs float here, dance is a way of life and rhythms pulsate into a sexual tropical frenzy.
Lawyers morph into musicians, hymns are sung in four buildings by people wearing ties during the traditional hour and birds form themselves into choirs as do the mussels in the Marsh.
As the Lord's day came to a conclusion we find ourselves in Doc's Bar listening to real songwriters sing. Roy Swindelle is the High Priest as the congregation parks themselves on bar stools and benches beside tables. The bumper pool table becomes another place where people sit or lean.
Latecomers are turned away at the door because there is no room in the Inn so they smoke on sidewalks or stumble across the street to Bernies for Holy water. A few make their way to the beach and listen to different kinds of music.
As the testimonies conclude, the chosen people inside explode into applause, laughter, and shout out's of "Hell Yeah!" Miraculously cups are filled anew and all fall silent as the service continues.
It is over much too soon so Sarah and I decide to return home as the moon dances across the sky and we make music of our own. And as we fall asleep we hear the rhythm of the ocean kissing the shore.
