Same ocean. Different waves.
Same salty fishy smell. Different colored sand.
I love the beach.
Sitting in the sand,
butt nested in, eyes closed meditating
I hear children
running, screaming, laughing
"Mom, look at this treasure I found!"
And I remember my time as a child here
turned loose, free in the waves and sand,
back to camp for meals.
Forced to take a cold shower when I got too disgusting.
Crabbing with chicken necks on a string near the bridge foundations.
Clams gathered by dragging a rake that clinked when it hit a shell.
We slept in old army canvas tents
and on rainy nights they filled with water
until we learned not to touch the canvas.
Our marine corps fathers got out their green military shovels
and showed us how to trench
so the water would run away.
And we learned the proper way to drive a tent stake in the sand.
The park has changed.
Providing me with wonder and more to learn.
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