freewrite

From April 15, 2005.

Yesterday, I walked Sandy on the beach. I walked; she cavorted and perhaps rolled in something dead, judging from the smell I noticed later. We hiked south through the dunes for a mile, up the sand hills, down, up again, the effort sparking a burning reminder in my thighs that maybe I don’t do this enough.

I climbed the last dune before the ocean, then had to search for a safe way down; the ocean has carved cliffs along that part of the shore. The tide receded out, leaving more sand than usual exposed. I smiled to walk boldly where few feet have gone before, wet sand firm underneath my toes. Broken shells cascaded out before me, evidence of the ocean’s uncaring strength. Miraculously, several sand dollars remained intact among the rubble. I filled my pockets and thought how small children would view the glistening beach rocks as treasure and because I am a mother, so do I. I continued my walk, sand dollars in my pocket, my day awash in riches.

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