can you hear me now?

Odillon Redon, "La coquille"

~*~*~*~*~

sitting along the water's edge on the day i desired sleep more than a good beach day (the wisdom and persistence of a 13- ear-old won out, thank God), i examine closely all people and their interractions with each other as family, friends, strangers. the smell of the sea comingled with tanning products and zinc oxide is seriously intoxicating and i breathe it in deeply, grateful for my teen-aged daughter's insistence.

conversations are overheard, glimpses are gained into their lives if only for a brief moment; the laughter of the little ones rises up and over the crashing of the waves.

and this is good.

i watch in complete amusement the antics of an almost 3 year-old as he escalates the "drippy castle" and propels himself downward in an haphazard fashion akin to slalom-skiing on one's stomach.

"is he always this......busy?" i inquire of his mother.

"only in sand. i liken it to how a cat reacts to catnip."

we smile and he continues his antics without tiring and is apparently magnetic as he attracts like-minded 3 year-old passersby who soon join in on the fun. hardly easy to focus on the content of "Confessions" when such joy is being had five feet in front of you :)

beach chairs line up in rows, blankets host folks who desire a tan more than entertainment. i marvel at how busy the moms and dads are chasing after their little ones. mine aren't so little anymore and the only instructions that are needful of me are the direction as to where i placed the food money and when to reapply sunblock. part of me longs for the days of watching my babies make fast friends with the children whose parents are fortunate enough to afford a week's vacation at the beach whose parents, in turn, marvel at the fact that we have access to said beach within 15 minutes of our house. nevermind we have jobs and responsibilities -- get thee to the beach, housework and bill paying be damned!!

before i turn back to my book in a show of forced concentration, i am drawn into a scene where a father has a large seashell up against the ear of his little girl, perhaps two in age, striving on her tippy-toes to hear the symphony of the ocean inside the shell -- it is magical.

until the dad pulls the shell away and it is magically morphed into a cell phone.

~sigh~

it must be the writer in me, pen and notebook in hand, hoping for a moment that did not include technology: the romance and simplicity of a moment between nature, father & daughter.

perhaps i'll catch a moment of that today as i head back out with my beach chair, sunblock and give another go at Confessions...housework and bill paying be damned!!