I go to the family side, not the surfing side, and there was plenty of sand stretching between us and the waves, patterns of shells strewn on the sand like brushstrokes. I lazily walked along the water line for a stretch, looking but not finding shark's teeth to give to my nephew. Instead, I found the sound of the shells being moved against each other by the waves, found the foamy edge of the wave lapping about my very-slightly tanned ankles, and watched as sea kayakers embarked on a morning journey, all from one push of a paddle against sand.
There was a misty, humid haze looking toward Kiawah, and on the other side, the pier, with its sounds of fishermen and the gift shop distant. We were in a changing playground, a shrinking and expanding one, full of sand and sea from the bottom to the very top of our thoughts so we could think of nothing else ...
No comments:
Post a Comment