A family trip in a year gone by,
driving to Florida with a young child,
four years old, headed for five.
A stop en route, along the Gulf of Mexico,
some time to rest and stretch,
and see the sea for the first time.
An empty stretch of sandy shore,
the mother, father, and child,
and a sunny day to warm them.
Light waves stroke the beach.
A wave runs out.
The child runs out.
A wave runs in.
Father, get the suitcase.
– – – – – – – –
The tale is true, the child is me.