Reverie

 I stand beside her at the ocean’s edge. She sits, perched on top of her float, gleefully waiting for the surf to strike. I look down at my feet in the wet sand. Rivulets run between my toes bereft of their usual colourful polish. We are just two figures together on the expanse of a beach at low tide. One child and one adult, sharing a glimpse of unfettered happiness. The water strikes. It’s cold, with a comforting undertone of warmth and it wipes away days peppered with worry and concern. Simple.

When I can coax her up and off the board, we move in tandem down the empty beach; she skips, I walk. The sand is vast, wet and smooth. The point where the ocean meets the horizon is a universe away. We walk for what seems like hours, passing nobody. I watch her endless enjoyment with a smile. 

Later we sit, she in the wet sand, me a little above. I arrange myself and pretend I am dry. Low tide makes sand digging irresistible and she begins to scoop out a hole big enough to sit in. I lie back watching her through my sunglasses. The sun turns the water into glistening silver streams. Contented minutes tick by. It seems as though all the moments I have spent by the ocean are hovering in front of us. I almost reach into the air to pluck one and bring it forth. Then her voice calls. The digging is completed and the reverie fades. 

Leaving the waves behind, we walk, hand in hand, one child and one adult back up the empty beach.