8 april 2017
jesus, i hope i can play with you tomorrow
9 april 2017
easy acoustic guitar, soft singsongy voices, and citrus lime cake.
we sit quietly in the car afterwards, speechless really. golden hour approaches, the 6pm sun is setting. we are headed to the beach.
when we park the car, the street is sunday busy, so not really busy at all.
we are barefoot before we hit the sand, flip flops in hand.
stephen starts us off as we run to the water, sand slowing our speed, but not our energy.
we jump and splash and kick in the puddles. it’s cold but it feels good
a spring of life, the first taste of summer.
it wakes up the children in us.
we run to the pier,
against the wind, our jackets and towels picking up air like kites and capes.
underneath the pier, it feels endless.
as big as a colosseum, with the sun slowly lowering over white foamy waves, falling over, folding over, each column they run into.
standing ankle deep in clear water, feet playing with the loose sand, and little sand crabs, and tiny baby sand clams,
gently brushing our soles.
we stand there for a while, watching the liquid land in front of us wave in and out
the unblocked sun steadily burning our skin, eyes, the tips of our noses – unable to look away – thinking about how we got to this day.
we walk back, the edges of our shorts soggy from the last wave
smiling, overwhelmed at what we were doing.
stephen picks a washed up stick and runs in a spiral
circling it along the sand as justin, jordan and i chase him
completely careless and stupid happy
children playing tag before supper
this is a life that’s full of color
the wind picks up as we take our time back to the car
the sand behind us, a thin grey haze itching our ankles.
justin grabs a handful and lets the breeze push it from his hand
it follows the wind
we are kid_s
this is wonder_ful