At the Shore

It's the summer of my fourth year. Dad is driving us to the seashore. The sun follows us, a happy fellow, beaming in the mid-morning’s azure sky. In the back seat with my two sisters, I’m looking out the window as I crunch on Mom’s homemade salty Chex Mix, anticipating the warmth of salt spray from the waves I’ll be jumping on this beautiful day - Life is a beach not yet even in my vocabulary. We are now at the shore, a large blanket laid out, Mom with her bright red hair tied back with a brighter red check scarf, and my dad, dark-haired and handsome, smiling. So rare is this happy countenance he wears today! For a while I sit as if entranced, watching the waves roll in. But eventually, and predictably, my joy ebbs like the tide. Dark clouds are gathering; gray begins to envelop the sky. I look over to my dad; the gray has recaptured his face. In the vanishing sunlight, familiar dark thoughts invade my mind - Dad, can I see you be happy just once for a whole day? Rain . . . always it rains when we go to the seashore. Was posted 2/4/16 and now being used for Second Chance Poetry Contest of Broken Wings on 3/7/2016