The last day of July.

It could be that it was Saturday - one directly in the heart of summer, devoid of any real obligation.

It could be the fact that the oppressive heat of weekends prior miraculously lifted, leaving us with a perfect 80 degree day with a gentle breeze and only a random, wispy suggestion of a cloud that would disintegrate before we could even give it mention.

It could be that we rode a motorcycle, sure, but more so the significance of this fact. Given its recent absence due to an accident that could have ended tragically, it is now somehow more precious, and branded with a reminder that precaution is never wasted on young, jubilant lives that lack nothing except a guarantee for the future. As we glided, smooth as silk from Manhattan to Queens to Long Island to the shore and back again, at moments along a mere strip of land nestled between the Ocean and the Sound, we were free and awake and as alive as possible.

It could be the beach itself. It has an innate ability to, in spite of crowds, capture people in their realest state, allowing them to temporarily abandon their own physical, professional or personal responsibilities and be captivated by something greater than ourselves. The salty air cooled our sun-soaked skin, deprived for months each year under layers of cotton and wool; the warmth of the sand radiated beneath us; the symphony of seagulls and laughing children and crashing waves serenaded us. The transformative power this environment is undeniable.

It could be the combination of all the above.

But I can't help but think that, as perfect as every detail seemed, as brilliant a combination of circumstances as it, admittedly, was - it was much more. It is much more. In spite of time or location or circumstance - in spite of background music or weather pattern or mode of transportation. In spite of candlelight or sunlight, winter or summer, Tuesday morning or Saturday afternoon, there is some greater unifying factor.

And though it is a defining factor - I can't define it.

And I don't think I need to.