The Hoogally household had a long awaited trip to the seaside to visit Grandparents over Easter.
We usually hold off telling the Monkey about trips away until as close as possible to the event itself. In fact, the ideal point to tell him that we are going away is around about the moment that we put his shoes on by the door.
But this time the Monkey has known for a while about this trip.
We’ve not been able to visit his Grandparents for over a year and so this trip has been both long anticipated and the source of great excitement. It’s been beautiful to see.
But the Monkey was not only excited about seeing his Grandparents but also about visiting the sea.
And truth be told, so was I because…
There’s something about the sea that calls to my spirit. When I’m there I feel alive. It’s as if something primal stirs in me.
Perhaps it’s the untameable wildness, the vastness that stretches out further than my eyes can see.
Perhaps it’s the power lying in those waves, barely restrained and answerable to no one.
But I think that mostly it is the breeze, a wind that comes off the sea teasing around your hair, whispering tales of far-flung shores and adventures that it has borne witness to.
But we live in interesting times and so this day is a family day and this day the sea is as much a partner to its sandy companion as it is an attraction of its own.
And so we found ourselves on the first day of our holiday, with the sun out and fluffy white clouds dancing across bright blue skies, throwing on our sandals and making our way to the beach.
The beach where as a child I carried buckets, inflatable rings and towels down to the waters edge before running into the lapping waves with a disregard to the cold that only small people can muster.
And now it’s the Monkey, my Monkey, storming ahead in excitement.
And this year he is, slowly but enthusiastically, now followed by Little Pumpkin. Her hands are still in ours but her sights are most determinedly set on following her brother under her own steam.
So, for now, the untamed waves and whispering wind must wait.
For today is the day of beach huts and sandcastles
shells and stones
ice cream and chips.
Today is the day of sand dunes turned into pirate islands in the eyes of a five year old boy,
his sandals long since discarded,
jeans rolled up
and hair tousled in all directions…
perhaps by the wind that whispers to him too….?