when we had packed the bags, passed the roadblocks, and staved off the screaming for 20 minutes fewer than necessary, the sea peeked around a bend in the road, but they did not see it.
and when our joints popped and mouths yawned in fresh air as we climbed out of the car, and they had not napped, no sir, they saw shops and raindrops, but they did not see it.
even when we padded down the sandy steps, and yes there was an ocean, but in front of the ocean was a CREEK and PEOPLE and SAND and OHMYGOSH A CREEK and CAN YOU BELIEVE ALL THIS SAND … i really don’t think they saw it.
but the next morning, when there was no sound save for the beating of our hearts and the heartbeat of the waves, when there was no smell save for the overwhelming windswept soapy smell of the ocean, when you could write a book of wisdom from the whispers in the silence, when there was not another soul on miles and miles of sand, then they looked out across the dunes and the desert, and there was the sea.
they saw, and they laughed, and danced, and he ran until he was naught but a blue speck with legs, and she grinned and ate sand. and they and the sea and the sand were together a big beautiful memory of blue and soft and pungent. their little lives grew 4 sizes that day, when they saw the sea.