Landmark at Low Tide

It was Sunday, but I already knew. This would be my Tuesday moment.

Last year, whenever the tide sunk low while the sun stretched high, we walked the sandbar. We tried on many occasions to cross to the furthest "island", but never made it. The water lapped too high; the children halted, too afraid.

But Sunday, we made it across, our last attempt a successful one. It felt symbolic, though it probably wasn't. It felt like we put the final piece into a gorgeous puzzle, after turning it this way and that to make it fit. And we could sit back now, admire the entire picture, begin to tell stories about the hours we spent putting it together, the thousands of pieces.

For the kids, it was just another morning at the beach, another day of exploration topped with the triumph of finally reaching the furthest shore. But for me, it was a landmark moment, marking endings and beginnings and the places in between where we met so often with delight and wonder. Like a crescendo note rising with the tide, singing in one breath the whole story of the time when we were neighbors with the sea.

tuesdays unwrapped at cats

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