Joy has a face, and I've seen it here, stared shamelessly at it for three days straight.
It's here, in the curl of toes against sand, in the filling and dumping of buckets, in the matching twinkle of ocean and ocean blue eyes. There it is.
When they use the waves like a jump rope, hopping their way to high tide, there it is. When their voices hit the highest glee and their arms flail like a lopsided windmill, when they run in, then out, then back again, oh, there it is.
If joy had a face, then there it is.