Postcard

I’m playing chicken with the sand. My feet sink further and further into it as each blue wave ebbs and flows over them. I’m hedging my bets I can outlast the sand. I can stand resolute as I get deeper and deeper, knowing that if I wait just a second too long I won’t be able to get out. It’s a chance I’m willing to take to feel the cool envelopment of the sand on my feet.

The wind is whipping my hair around and stinging my face as I play this rather dangerous game.  It’s a harsh reminder of the world above the sand. It’s loud and rough. See….it has a mind of it’s own the wind. It can fill my sails or ensure that my travels fall flat, all with no empathy for the simple goal of my journey. An entity that can’t be bribed, cajoled or worked upon is indeed a formidable foe. It has earned my respect if not my affection.

Without turning around I know there is a child building sandcastles nearby. He laughs as he works-talking to his companions while he builds his very own Duomo. It is a laugh that I envy. He has no cares, no decisions to make and no thoughts to sort out. It allows him to laugh with a freedom we adults left behind long ago.

The sun is beating down and making my skin burn. It smells of sun tan lotion and has a sheen of salt left behind from the ocean. Somehow I know the salt has pulled out any impurities and will leave behind a fresh start as it always does. I have visited this stretch of beach for almost twenty-five years. I can measure my life by the photographs I’ve taken and the dreams I’ve dreamed while walking its shores. But this time feels different. It feels like saying goodbye. I need a new shoreline, a new adventure. There are only a few more doors to close from what seems like a completely different life. Then new ones can be opened.

The ice in my drink clinks as it melts. My beach chair beckons.

Miss you….wish you were here

{ Photo by Genie Baker }