A Golden Memory

by Gail Balentine

They were a few feet away from me, a mother and her small child playing tag with the ocean waves. Just as I came closer, I heard the girl’s breathless voice.

 “Look Mommy, the sun is dripping on the o-shun!”

My eyes followed her chubby finger as she pointed to the sun’s golden reflection on the blue-green sea. The sparkling bits of color did look like paint drops and I smiled as I continued my walk along the beach. The sea was calm that day, the waves gentle as they danced over all the small rocks and seashells on their quest to reach the wall that separates the water from the grass. Warm sand trickled between my toes with each step I took, my skin tingled with warmth and salt air, and I needed to raise my hand to shade my eyes when I looked out at the boats in the distance, some with sails unfurled, others bobbing in place. It was a picture-perfect day and I etched all the details in my mind.

I’ve always loved the ocean, any time of day from sunrise to sunset to moonlit night; in any of its moods, from moments of peace and calm to its rage during storms and everything in-between. It might be the sheer size of it or the changing nature it has, I’m not sure, but the ocean is what I seek when I have things to think about and my restless heart needs to settle down a bit. It never disappoints. That little girl comes to mind often and I still smile at the sheer wonder in her voice and I have long been grateful for her innocent reminder of how amazing simple things can be.

My life has sped by since that day and I am old now and can no longer walk in the sand beside the ocean, but I can still remember. I close my eyes and bring it back – the sights, the sounds, even the smells. Memories are such precious gifts.

“Look.” My nurse gently pats my hand and points out the window. “The rain has finally stopped and the sun is coming out.”

It had been raining non-stop for a week and I had begun to wonder if the sun was ever going to come out again. But there it was. I smiled and I thought of that little girl. After all these years, she’d be old enough to have her own child with whom she could share the wonder; she could show her how the sun drips on the o-shun.