Yesterday I enjoyed a long walk on the beach with dad.

Nearly a 90 minute discussion.

Questions. Ponderings. Silence.

The usual when we’re together.

We strolled slowly observing all that nature offers … a moon that manages our water from a far… an ocean that houses many and provides delicious food to others… clouds that delight and warn… soft soothing sand that can turn into hot coals under the sun… sea oats that wave like plumes on a Derby Day hat.. the cry of a seagull and a squeal of a child both in delight from a beach snack.

As we neared the island’s end, we moved toward the water; a new section exposed at low tide. There our conversation quieted as the hunting began.

Sea shells.

Some exposed. Some hidden.

Various colors and sizes.

Unique sea offerings, each beautiful.

“Oh, look at this one!”

“Check this one out.”

“Ooooooh, look what I found”

“Isn’t this one beautiful?”

And so it went till I had two handfuls and whispered, “this is enough.”

I looked around the shoreline and saw a raised mound of sand. Perfect. Smooth. Just above the rising tide.

I positioned each shell. Moved a few around. Looked again as I squatted at the water’s edge.

It was good.
It was right.
It was fitting.

I stood and watched as the water encroached more and more.

Our walk was nice; they always are.

There is both a sense of being buoyed up and anchored down when I’m with him.

Sure of self. At ease. Loved.

My tears poured, salting the waves that washed apart my shrine as I stood alone.

“I miss you”