Their quiet glow caught my eye. Several tiny white orbs flickering in the moonlight.I yelled.
He came.
“Floating on the water?!” I cried
“Resting on the sandbar.” his reply
“What are they, Pop?”
“I don’t know.”
Shoes were kicked off, a shirt thrown down. Grey hair winning the inevitable war against youth, he took off into the dark. The desire for answers and late night adventure launched him into the oncoming surf.
The perfect breaststroke. A metronome. Something I’ll never master. He fought the oncoming tide and disappeared into wet darkness. Terror and excitement at the age of 6, I trembled smiling, screaming to the others to join in this moment of discovery.
Then silence, but for the ocean’s repetitive lurches forward. Had my grandfather been swept out to sea?
Slowly the shimmering bulbs disappeared. Dreadful, adrenaline filled minutes followed… until from the spray of a salty wave he emerged triumphant. I sprinted forward with cries of adulation. Soaked and exhausted he produced six enormous carved shells in his arms. Giant Cockled Clams.
The first sea creatures I’d ever held.
No comments:
Post a Comment