Thinking ‘Bout the Ocean

We went to the beach twice on our trip. It was cold and wet the first time–the wet sand clung to my rain boots and our cheeks glowed damply. The sky was overcast, grey and lightless, the sea foamy and colorless. It was even too cold to smell that familiar smell of salt and briny decay. Still, shells dotted the dark, wet sand, and sea gulls huddled around hopefully. They missed the summer crowds and easy pickings. Rejoicing over every bit of flotsam on the beach, the Clotworthy kids rushed up and down the sand, picking up everything, no matter how broken and battered. Little A couldn't figure out any of it, walking along with his fat hands jammed into his coat pockets, brow furrowed, boots stomping. 

The second time was just the three of us, late in the afternoon of our last full day. It was clear and sunny–the sun low, turning everything to gold. Unlike our first grey day, the ocean shimmered blue and serenely. The sand was dry this time, and it was harder to find footing in my clunky rainboots. Knifing cold wind stung our eyes and cheeks, forcing Little A to hide his face in my neck. Only when I let him play chicken with the waves at the ocean's edge did he warm up to the idea of the beach. Lifting him up every time the surf approached, I laughed at his kicking snow boots, his overwhelming desire to get in that water! Chad took a million pictures, which he does every time he gets the camera. It wasn't really a good beach day–much too cold and windy, but I loved that golden quality of light and air. Will we be back at the beach with Little A in July? I don't know the answer. Chad and I will be there, in the hot, baking sun, digging our feet into the sand, riding the waves and loving every minute. But I wonder about that small boy. Will I be slathering him over with sunscreen, saving him from drowning (a very real possibility with our fearless water baby), laughing at his first taste of salt water? I hate the uncertainty.