We spent a week at the beach with Miss T. It was cold. It was windy. But that didn't deter the intrepid beach explorers from collecting the bounty of the winter tides.
What amazed me was how busy these two were, doing the important work of the four-year-old. These two who normally never leave each others side, who usually hold hands in all that they do, and who seriously never -- EVER -- stop talking.
They played several yards away from each other on the beach in utter and complete silence. I sat and watched in awe. They concentrated joyfully on arranging driftwood just so, drawing sand hieroglyphics, plucking up shells and rocks and creating beach shrines to mermaids and sea sprites. And they never uttered a word. The wind howled, the ocean roared, the seagulls teased, but the two friends absorbed themselves in beach work without a word for a good hour.
I took a cue from them and even laid down at one point, enjoying the sunshine, and as I closed my eyes I swear I could feel the rotation of the earth. There was something so primal, so of the moment, so pure in that winter beach time.