On afternoons,

Today I sat on the beach and thought about the sun.


I woke up earlier than I should have considering the time I went to sleep. I am not a morning person but I managed to crawl out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water run yesterday's chlorine down the drain. I brushed my hair out, letting the breeze dry it the way it would, and slipped into my most comfortable pair of shorts.

We all met at the park. Scattered in the far corner were tables covered in white and red checkered table cloths. It all seemed so picturesque, but this was real.

Almost immediately I found myself running down to the beach with friends. We walked along, picked up sea glass in a second nature kind of way, and chatting in the easy familial fashion. I didn't notice as my calves readjusted to the kind of walking one has to do on fine sand, and the burning sun didn't make my eyes squint.

Later, as the army of small blond haired children ran relay races I was shown the truth of the statement, "It takes a village to raise a child". Everyone's food was open to devouring, and everyone was fair game in the water gun fight.

Then I went to the beach alone. I didn't go far, but just long enough so the sand to seaweed ratio was a different and the people were fewer and far between. I turned my back to the ocean and glanced at the path behind me.

It was just a dirt path running through the few yards of trees that separated the park from the beach. But the trees on either side had overgrown and it created an arch over the entryway. It seemed like something sacred, and it reminded me of so many pictures I had seen on postcards. I knew that few friends of mine would believe something so achingly beautiful existed here on my island.

I turned back and squinted at what may be the ocean or may just be Narrows bay. If I squinted hard enough I could ignore the people at the very edges of my vision. If I concentrated on the sound of the waves hard enough, I could ignore the lifeguards voice to my right. With the slightest help from my imagination, I could see the sail boats in the distance being made of cheap plastic and containing doll house toys. If I were alone here, this moment wouldn't be any less beautiful. I could feel no less significant in this universe, even if all life disappeared.

Later, as I returned to the picnic, and surrounded myself with the stories, and the camaraderie I was faced with a question I will never be able to answer.

People without a solid church family... what do they fill that hole with? When that small part of you isn't allowed to blossom in the sun, where does it go?