Seaside

I’ve packed my things in a hurry as I
run out the door stuffing items in a bag
mentally running over the list: a towel,
a book, a water bottle, sunscreen (SPF 50),
a change of clothes for the ride home.
Flip flops in hand, jumping on toes, I narrowly
avoid the stickers in the grass. 

The asphalt parking lot burns my bare feet
and the salty wind whips hair into my eyes
as the water bottle drops from my hands.
With a dash to the board walk,
I scamper down the stairs, and sink
as my still bare feet land in the
burning white sand, soft as new snow.

The sand squeaks beneath my feet
and sand flies into my eyes,
squinting as I try to
look at the emerald blue water
with its rolling waves and white foamy crests
and green June Grass floating around
which usually harbor the sting of the jellyfish.

The waves lap my toes and splash my knees with
biting salty water, burning scratches and cuts.
Quickly at first, I move in, until the waves start to
splatter my sensitive stomach, making me
gasp and squeal, tensing. I know the quick
plunge is safest: I inhale, bend my knees, and
submerge my shoulders beneath the icy waves,
held fast in the embrace of the ocean.