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  • Writer's pictureAnne Mitchell

Scent of Summer

In Pacific Grove, mint pastel cottages line the seaside streets.

Deer families stroll through backyards, on sidewalks.

Pre-teen white sharks cruise the bay of Lover’s Point.

You can smell the fog mist, a cocktail of boardwalk, salt, seaweed.

It reminds me of a summer in Ocean City,

the year Jaws released fear in air-conditioned theaters,

When stepping into the moss green shore break became a test

of bravery, when the shadow of a horseshoe crab became a fin.

But in Pacific Grove, naïve swimmers scissor kick outside the kelp line,

while gulls snatch french fries from the hands of tourists at the snack shack.


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