Between work shifts, I drove Grace down to the beach. I went to watch the sunset. She went to jump in and over and through and under the waves.
For awhile, a seagull stood near me facing the waves, apparently watching alongside me.
If we looked south, clouds.
But to the right, we watched the sun slide slowly toward the horizon as the sky turned from blue to orange to pink to blue-gray.
When I say “we”, I mean the seagull and me.
Grace was too busy welcoming every foamy wave that came to shore.
A family arrived at the beach shortly before sunset: three little girls in dresses.
“Can we get wet?” the oldest one asked.
I never heard the answer, but soon two of the three girls were frolicking in the waves. (The littlest one, just barely toddling was tended by grandma who kept her out of the surf.) Their little sun-dresses were drenched in salt water and their giggles filled the air. Mom photographed the entire event with a fancy camera with a big lens. It looked like they were on vacation.
I was kind of jealous because I am not on vacation. But I do live near the beach. Sort of.
And then, a dolphin leaped out of the water, just beyond the waves.
I tried to get a shot of it jumping from waves to air, but missed every time. And then it was gone.
The sun sunk lower, disappeared over the horizon. The sky brightened to a pink, then faded.
I motioned for Grace to come out of the waves.
It was a lovely hour, that hour before dark.
And then we came home.