At the whisper, the rolling swish of waves, at the sea, the child returns
Hot sand sifting and flip flop prints, the child, she returns
Gull, tipped head looks and looks and knows that little child, for she has just returned
Laughing, face lifted to the sun, eyes closed but to the sun, the child has now returned
Broken shells and smooth green (green!) sea glass found, the delighted child returns
Cold dipping toes, hunched shoulders, water slapping at her waist, the gasping, giggling child returns
In buckets and drip drop castles, the child in the floppy hat – she returns
On a warm towel, wayfarers, painted toes, cat napping, the tuckered cocoa buttered toasty child returns
To the sea, at the sea, the child – the little girl child with the big heart and the wide eyes – the one who is able to recognize but not explain simple, abundant beauty – she returns.
Returns again and again. And she is happy, that little girl, that woman – as happy as she allows herself to be.