Beautiful Memory

The salty air fills my lungs. I take in it's fragrance with old memories. Taking off my shoes, my feet touch the sand. I stand still and sigh as my toes sink within the grands. Slow steps I take to the shore so familiar. I choose a spot on the damp sand and wait for the first foaming wave to touch my feet, then my ankles. The icy cool water shocks but thrills me as I wade out into its depths, my hands touching its surface. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and dive within the wave coming towards me. Teeth chattering from the cold, I wade in farther up to my chin. Finding my balance I wade on each crest of water and stare out at the shore. So far away, yet so close. I watch children chasing seagulls, playing on the banks, and building sandcastles with their fathers. I see couples holding hands, walking, not saying words. Mothers dozing, drowzy, forgotten books resting beneath their hands. I glance up at the semi-clear sky and watch as the seagulls soar swiftly by. Their song lulling me into a state so peaceful that all I feel is the warm sun on my face. Time speeds by as I continue to swim in my favorite place. The cold gone, I am numb to the point that I even feel warm. My hair fans out around me and I watch as it floats on the water's surface. With each movement I make I smile at the way the water feels scouped against my hands each time they course back and forth. Not being able to feel the floor below, I bask in the strange sensation of being suspended in the ocean. I watch the sail boats farther out and I take in the scene they create with their beautiful white sails. I laugh with joy at the site of children waving wildly from the rocks as the boats leave the harbor. The harbor. The cages full of lobster, the tiny stores, my favorite seafood restaurants. Shouts from sailors in long rain coats as they climb around on boats and toss around long ropes and boxes. I think about the bay where I would hunt for crabs as a little girl with my little green bucket. Filling it up, I would take them proudly back to shore to show off to my great aunt and uncle, who, in my eyes, were my grandparents, and they would cover the bucket and place them in a safe place beside their camper. I would keep them for a day, letting them go when the sun began to set. From my revery I hear my name shouted from a long way off. I look and find I am being called for. I wade back to shore and emerge reluctantly from the water, glancing back at the dark waves, the sun playing off of each ripple and I sigh and walk away.