They run for the water, tossing sun hats for goggles. I stop them and they give me ho hums as I make them put on their PFD's, for the sign reads Strong Current and those words make me feel achy deep down in my bones. And then they are off again, bright fish in water as clear and green as glass.
Sully comes running out of the gentle waves with long strands of green and brown seagrasses stuck to his legs, waving a piece of treasured shell at me. He crawls up into my lap with saltwater dripping from his eyelashes. "Can I have this shell, Mama?" Yes, I say. "You mean I can bring this shell home with me, Mama? I can keep it?" Of course, I say.
The day is spent under lazy, swaying palms. Pelicans and gulls fly overhead and just under fish scale clouds. Theo lives in the water where his tippy toes touch and waits for the wake of passing boats to push him to shore. Sully comes to sit next to me once Theo has gone out too far and fills a cheap plastic bucket shaped like a sandcastle full of water, sand, sea grass, one tiny silver fish and one black crab no bigger than the tip of my thumb with orange-ish legs and two beady eyes. The school of exploration I dream about them attending.
Where the water laps up and then spills back over and rolls out is where I plant myself in the ocean. I sit here and watch my family and wait for the familiar to take over, and it does. Always does.