She ran across the sand, long tendrils curled by saltwater mist, trailing wildly. Her oldest boy kept pace with eyes only for her. The littlest one reached – hand over fist – up weathered driftwood. Brothers skipped stones, laughed, and let the words come and go as they pleased. The ocean’s monologue filled the spaces in between.
It was the kind of time that settles you, and we grabbed big fistfuls of it with gratitude.
(Click any picture below to embiggen.)