FOREVER WILD
When I think of the Scarborough house, I remember the wind whipping through my salt-hardened curls and my little-girl feet bare and crusted with sand as I run through its heavy wooden doors. I was four and wild as the landscape itself.
My grandparents bought the Spanish-style home back when the coastal town had no electricity, bringing the structure to life with flickering paraffin lamps and a small gas stove. My grandfather used to say the Scarborough house had the best sunsets in the world, which justified any other inconvenience.
