The beach.

The beach is the place I go
For endless days of sun atop sand colored as snow.
Where warm sun dances across the air
Warming your face and even your chair.
From water toys and Matchbox cars
Naps, exhausted children and critters in jars.
Over the years things have changed.
A cute chubby lad now grown into a man.
Mickey Mouse swimsuits just won't work.
I'm not entertaining them with a game of dive deep.
Or catching crabs with a net just before sleep.
It's meeting young fellows or ladies at the pool.
Girls laughing, smiling while guys try to look cool.
No longer do we haul a trailer of stuff
To and from the beach with my husband in a huff.
I simply carry my single beach bag to my chair.
Splash on the lotion, put a clip in my hair.
Start on my latest Nicholas Spark's book.
I glance around, my daughter gives me her look.
No schedule or deadline to meet.
I'll occasionally wonder if my husband will burn his feet.
Remembering times when I sat in the sand
Building castles or wiping sand from a hand.
Filling buckets full of water.
Holding one of our sleeping toddlers.
No, it wasn't easy to make all this happen.
We came here whenever and most likely too often.
I do not regret our times in this place.
Even when our son got alittle too much sun on his face.
This place holds one of the chapters in our book.
Written by memories and treasures that we took.