She’s running – leaping really – across the wet sand –
sand so saturated that its surface shimmers like glass and
stretches down the shoreline like an antique window pane,
wavy and inconstant, but beautiful nonetheless.
She is skimming across its surface in a dance of sheer delight –
lungs filling with the fresh, wet morning sea air and
emptying with puffs of pure pleasure.
She is all light and life and movement
and promise and childhood and joy and
in this moment I want to be Her –
in this moment, I am Her.