It’s almost impossible for snowbound Utahns to comprehend a warm climate this time of year. when we were packing for Thanksgiving I told the kids, “You won’t need a coat, but long sleeves, long pants. And we’ll go the the ocean but bring sweats and thick hoodies– you might not even want to get in the water.”
And then, the delight we walked onto the beach and felt warmth pour over our heads and trickle down our necks. We peeled off sweatshirts and let it bathe our shoulders and arms. Kicking off our shoes, the warm sand soaked our toes and feet with delicious heat.
Ooh! But the water was cold– I steeled my nerves as I walked into the ocean and yelped with the shock of each wave as it broke across my knees, my hips, my belly, my chest. In a moment of bravado I ducked under and let the ice water fill my ears and eyes and sent my hair streaming down my back.
I caught wave after wave with my nieces and nephews, my sons, my husband, my dad. Relishing the perfect moment when the crest lifts and pushes me straight to shore and relinquishing the bodyboard only after feeling selfish for keeping it much too long.
Yet, just as thrilling as the waves is the challenge of wielding a camera on the beach. I love the play of light and water, mist and shadow. One angle produces rich colors and another gains the barest outline– a mere silhouette.
Burying Uncle Mike.
My sweet nephew thinks he can fly– he may be right.
Everyone cheered when Grandpa headed toward the water.
the sun began to set
and the water-lovers played just a bit more
until we were all wrapped up in warmth and ready for home.