Crashing waves,
screaming children,
the familiar tune of the ice cream truck
combine to form the melody
of perfect sunny days.
We drop our heavy armloads
of beach chairs and boogie boards
onto a patch of unoccupied sand
claimed as our own,
inhaling the salty air
we crave through the year.
I catch her eye,
instantly comprehending,
we shed our flip-flops
leaving footprints
only to be gone
with the sun and the tide
and race down the damp sand
into the water
surprised that it is liquid
it is so cold
and we continue to run
slower, now,
through the white-crested waves
and tumbling rocks
and slimy seaweed
until we are up to our waists
and can’t feel our toes
or legs
or hands
but only the pure joy
and simplicity
of summer.