I looked for shells- the ridged, potato chip kind- and baby sand dollars mostly. Sea glass was scarce there. I had stopped searching for it long ago.
Ankle deep in the September water, I bent down and dipped a perfect half clam just below the surface, careful not to collect too much sand. I sipped the freezing brine, then scooped up another and yelled against the current for him to come taste it.
From up the beach he could see my mouth moving, but the wind had stolen my words.
1 comment:
"ankle deep in the September water" that's an image that speaks to me.
beautiful atmosphere in your words here.
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