Warmest regards

Beachgoers begin their goodbyes to the season that 'just started yesterday'

(Globe Staff Photo / Jim Davis)

HAMPTON BEACH, N.H. - The light comes suddenly, like a switch being flicked in the sky.

The sun slides up over the edge of the ocean, spreading hot fingers along the sand and the cottages, making the tormented surf blaze with diamonds. As the fiery ball begins its slow dance to the west, Hampton Beach's ivory oasis sits deserted, waiting.

For a while, it remains that way; silent, with only the relentless breaking of waves and the shrill cackles from scavenging seagulls. Then, they emerge - starting in dribbles, then building to a deluge - first the walkers tugged by dogs on leashes and the joggers in track suits, then the sun-seekers, all floppy sun hats and flip-flops.

By noon, amid the sizzle of fried dough and chili dogs on the nearby strip, the beach is riotous with life: fluttering umbrellas, sunbathing beauties, flying Frisbees, radios dimly droning from sandy blankets.

Absorb this scene, remember it - soon, it will all be emptiness and cold.

"It went by too fast," 20-year-old Haverhill resident Nicole McGowan says of the past 12 weeks as she molds a sprawling sand castle. "Life is going by too fast," her boyfriend, 20-year-old Richard Matson, also of Haverhill, muses from behind dark shades. "It feels like the summer just started yesterday."

Although most people's favorite season doesn't officially crest to a close until the autumnal equinox on Sept. 22, for many of us it technically ends here, with Labor Day. This is when the beach crowds ebb; when school bells once again begin their dreaded ringing.

Every year, it's a sentimental sacrifice, the stuff of Bob Dylan lyrics and William Wordsworth prose.

"It's always sad to see it end," admits Donna-Marie Card of Auburn, Mass., digging in the sand with her 5-year-old son.

Yet here at Hampton, on a clear, 70-degree, late-August day, it feels as if summer might linger forever, and bronzed beachgoers cling to its dying days like the barnacles on the nearby rock pier.

Up on the strip, along the cluttered row of surf shops and snack shacks, they roam - girls catching looks in bikini tops and cut-offs, muscled guys winning teddy bears for their girlfriends, moms and dads trailing their kids.

As they surge along, jostling elbows, high-pitched Muzak sidesteps out of arcades. Wafts of fried goodies and sicky-sweet cotton candy tease the nostrils.

Cars lurch - jerk, stop, jerk, stop - within just a few feet of the masses. There's always a pedestrian to brake for.

Crowds on the beach ripple in a similar rhythm. Boys with wild hair wrestle bobbing kites. Little kids run to the water, buckets to fill. Busy-bodied adults ply the sand, creating castles, alligators - even a 4-foot-tall pyramid.

But just watch where you walk: There's a blond, sun hat-covered head protruding from the sand.

That's 5-year-old Matthew Card, buried up to his neck.

Face speckled with sand, he smiles. "It's cozy."

Not for long - soon the sand itches and tingles. He shimmies and his cocoon splits open in wide cracks. Then he emerges like Spider-Man's nemesis, Sandman.

A few beach towels away, Matson and McGowan are more ponderously at work, knees in the sand, heads down.

"It's an attempted sand castle," chuckles Matson, motioning to a rounded moat encircling a blank square. "Another castle will be there," he says, pointing to a blank canvas of sand beside him.

He shrugs. "We're going to be here all night."

There's still time, but the day is fading - the sun has begun to dip slightly to the west. Now 5 p.m., the muted sunlight has scattered the crowds; sweaty, salty, many lug umbrellas and damp towels back up the beach.

One group of boisterous ladies has just finished up a lively bout of Pass the Pigs, a game with hog-shaped dice. (The best part: The victor yells "Sou-ey! "Sou-ey!" as shrilly as possible.)

"Not having to shovel snow," one among their giggling ranks, Denise Galvin of Nashua, replies when asks what she'll miss about summer. "The long days, the free feeling, the time to spend with my kids."

Of course, not everyone is so melancholy. For Galvin's friend Linda Hamill of Warren, for instance, summer is simply a state of mind. "My summer never ends," she asserts. (For example: Spurning 30-degree weather, she sets up tents and stages picnics in her living room.) "Even in the winter, it's a party," she explains before navigating the uneven terrain back to the boardwalk.

As the sun-soaked masses diminish, so does the water: The recoiling tide has exposed 20 additional feet of wet sand.

The sun, continuing its arc, dazzles off of it, piercing the eyes. Children track pooled-up footprints as they search for stranded crustaceans. All around, Frisbees and baseballs fly and footballs spiral. Seagulls - plump, some as big as terriers - leer and wait.

Quickly, the afternoon recedes.

By 7 p.m., the sun hovers low in the sky. The beach is cool and spotted with stragglers.

Down along the shore, there are remains of this day, the temporary artifacts of summer.

Irregularly shaped holes mar the beach, indicating where bodies crawled in and out. Castles - some with elaborate columns, others merely damp mounds - are left to be taken by the tide. The beach versions of initial carvings trace the sand: "Jacob," "Jamie" and "Tom (hearts) Jessica."

Finally, at 7:31, with a blaze, the orange-gold sun winks behind the horizon.

Dusk clutters the cottages and the beach's spindly-legged water tower. The sky rapidly darkens. Stars, although still dulled by the twinges of light from the sun, sparkle like apparitions.

Out on the neon-drenched strip, a new crowd emerges. Older, moving with purpose, dressed for a night out. Some night-dwellers window-shop. Others stake out spots for a fireworks show.

The night is full of movement - yet like the summer, it will soon slip away.