P E R S P E C T I V E S

I suppose that's why we choose odd hours or uncommon moments in our day to nestle ourselves on the sand or on a warm bench by the inlet. The best times seem to be after the crowds have rumbled and tumbled home after 3:00 in the afternoon, or on a Sunday after Mass. Either with our children or alone, we seem to gather up the peace and contentment of the ocean in a little bundle and bring it home with us.

Those times help to work out the extra energy my sons might have. The kids battle the waves with boogie boards or with their own fierceness. They dig trenches to hide in or tunnels to castles and forts that disappear with a far-reaching wave.

Sometimes, my children just sit quietly watching every wave unfurl on the shore. They slowly empty fistfuls of sand onto their legs and breathe deeply the sea air. They feel peace within themselves and I am thankful.

On the other hand, my husband and I will time our walks on the sand after 7:00 in the evening, to be able to watch the sun set and the boats return home to dock. We talk, reflect, solve, and plan. We return home bringing with us the ocean's mist on our clothes.

When the boys join us, the ocean has a way of engulfing us into its seagull-filled sounds, its salty heaviness, its fresh aromas, and its calming lulls. The day's battles, arguments, and non-stop going here or there is whisked away. All that is left are four people holding hands, walking ever so slowly along a line that separates the tranquility that the ocean brings and the routine that the land delivers to its dwellers.