you know how when you were four, you went to the beach and played in the waves for hours and hours until the sun set and your parents dragged your sand-covered self home, wrapped an a brightly colored beach towel. you fell asleep in the car, and when you woke up your sheets were all gritty and morning light was coming through the curtains.
it didn't matter that you couldn't swim and the current could pull you out and eat you alive. the fact is that water is the most beautiful element in all time and you had to be there, in it. and it was such joy that you lost all sense of time and place and you laughed harder than you had all year.
and then you learned how to swim and make ornate sandcastles and decided that playing in the waves had an age limit, and you, in your great maturity had passed that limit.
so now you lay there like a beached whale and try to read a romance novel while simultaneously contracting skin cancer. i know, i've seen you. you've seen me.
i relived that childhood joy of playing in the waves this week with some friends. days later i still have water (and probably sand) in my left ear and after i take a shower it sloshes around and is all weird, but the reminder is good. a reminder that you are never too old to be pummeled in the sand, never to old to compete with the waves to see who is stronger, never too old to find such simple joy.
