You know this already. I’m staring down the start of Eliza’s sophomore year of college, and, more specifically, her leaving after a glorious three months of summer. And so for the next 10 days, as long as it includes me, I’m there, whatever she wants to do.
Today it was this. Beach. Rain. Run to the house. Downpour. Hours and hours and hours of downpour. Shower. Dry hair (and all). Late afternoon. Sun! Aww, come on, Ma. Swimsuit, sunscreen (layer, layer, layer), sand, chair, towel, book, hat, etc., etc., etc.
Right there in front of us is a group of five boys skim boarding. Dudes having fun, yes. But they are also dead serious about this sport. They stand back, calculating each wave. Wait, wait, Take One, skim with ridiculous speed, jump the crest. Dive, crash, flip. Pop out from beneath, sling hair, collect board, stride to shore.
I could watch them for hours, these boys of summer, but alas. The rain starts again. So my sweet girl and I grab our things and run for the house.
Dang, we say to each other. And yet I am wildly happy. Time with her, and this bonus view to their world, passionate, youthful, timeless.