Palm trees bounce in the warm weather breeze, lazy nods, and the humid air leaves sticky moisture on my skin. Life is good, with ocean waves collapsing to the sand, hugging the rocks, and with orange popsicle juice dripping down my chin, I close my eyes and let the sun shine on my face. My palm is sweaty in your hand, but you don't seem to mind. You race to catch lime popsicle drippings on your tongue, and we walk alone the shore until we find the best place to unroll our beach towels and lounge in the day's perfection next to one another. The spot we are looking for is somewhere in the sun, but not in its direct beam, somewhere close to the tall rocks where we can later explore, and where their looming shadows can shade us.
We find a place not long after we set out for our walk.
We lay our towels on the sand, but don't sit still for long, because nearby we have found a cove full of shells and crabs underneath the sand. The two of us become treasure hunters, and we form a pile of things up high on the rocks where the tide can't reach them. Neither of us talk much, we are so busy digging and skimming our fingers along the shallow water's surface.
"If you really look, you find good things. Colorful things, shining things, things that make you wonder. Things you love wondering and thinking about." You tell me this all the time. And everytime, you give my hand a little squeeze.
That makes me feel all warm inside.
No comments:
Post a Comment