A.C. McAnelly

Doesn't sound much different than back home.

Maybe it'll be easier to adjust to it that way.

Once the sun was out of my eyes, I stopped talking and took that nap.

Not to avoid Aunt Lydia, but to avoid the motion sickness.

She let me sleep for most of the drive, but woke me up as we were approaching town.

The coast was vastly different than the towering mountains I was used to.

On the drive-in, the only things massive here were the cliffs that faced the ocean, as if they were the last sentinels to ward off the thrashing waves.

It was pretty, but the storm-gray sky didn't feel welcoming.

And once we made it to Angel Bay, the cliffs were nowhere in sight.

Just a few rolling hills that jutted out into the ocean, like desperate creatures reaching for the water.

The town was small, but not quiet.

I saw what Aunt Lydia meant by the perfect balance of life and peace.

As we drove by, there were plenty of people out on the street, some selling their goods from pop-up tents or rollable stands, others shopping among the row of vendors.

It looked like a fisherman's farmer's market and the flea market combined.

It only took a few minutes to drive through the whole town and finally make it to Aunt Lydia's.

Her hut sat on the shores of one of what I assumed were several beaches here.

It was bigger inside than it looked outside, with many windows to let in the light.

I hoped one of those shops we passed had some blackout curtains.

As I got out of the car, I was surprised at how warm it was, even with the gray sky threatening to open up on us.

I'd felt the humid hug of the valley and the mountains during summers, but this was a different type of warmth.