Beach

My first memory is hazy, surrounded by a swirl of gray matter and blueish smoke. I'm four years old standing in the black stained sands of Michigan. It's my first time, and I'm looking for a bucket to put the sand in. It's almost time to leave to head back to the house. I don't want to go though.

I run towards the water, a periwinkle blue that matches the sky. I'm sure to find my bucket there. My mother stops me before my bare feet can touch the wet sand and turns me around. It's time to go. She probably says something to comfort me but I can't remember the words.

We head towards my family who are waiting for me at the boardwalk. Someone gives me my shoes to protect my feet from the hard gravel. The wood of the boardwalk feels smoother when compared to the road.

After a headcount that doesn't hold much place in my memories, we head out. Our time at the beach is done.