When I was young in Mastic Beach, we spent Saturday mornings on the porch eating pancakes made by mom and naming all the birds that flew by.
When I was young in Mastic Beach, the scent of paint lingered on dads clothes as he taught me how to make the images in my head appear on the canvas in front of me. The clay he brought home already sculpted into figures and applauded no matter how unrecognizable they actually were.
When I was young in Mastic Beach, we made frequent trips to the beach at sunset and stayed well into the night, not caring about the mosquito bites that littered our bodies.
When I was young in Mastic Beach, camping was not our forte but we tried anyway. Each time ending with us returning home during the night just to go
When I was young in Mastic Beach, the scent of paint lingered on dads clothes as he taught me how to make the images in my head appear on the canvas in front of me. The clay he brought home already sculpted into figures and applauded no matter how unrecognizable they actually were.
When I was young in Mastic Beach, we made frequent trips to the beach at sunset and stayed well into the night, not caring about the mosquito bites that littered our bodies.
When I was young in Mastic Beach, camping was not our forte but we tried anyway. Each time ending with us returning home during the night just to go