This morning I sat on a rock jetty pondering tide pools.
It was our last beach morning.
For the last three days I had gone out with the kids, and Ma Nancy or Dave, and combed the beach. I watched wide eyed as the kids ran and yelled and danced. They fed sea gulls. They looked for shells. And they searched tide pools.
I don't know what fascinated me about it this time. We are tide pool frequenters. But I had to sit this morning and soak it in. The beauty of a tide pool.
Grant raised a handful of hermit crabs. Rose screamed joy over a starfish. Avonlea's head stayed bowed in attentive contemplation for minutes on end. Rowan tickled sea "enemies" and giggled as they closed on his finger.
Apparently, these dark holes of stagnant water hold treasure.
The tide which floods with a vengeance deposits rich booty for seekers.
My children are seekers. Am I?
At one point they all huddle over one pool, intent. Behind them is the lighthouse that Dave and I walked towards almost 15 years ago on a college retreat. The walk where Dave told a speechless girl of his love for her. The lighthouse has symbolized our journey, our never-ending walk of love.
Dave says something to the kids and they all look up at the same moment.
All at once, I see the treasure in my tide pool.
The floods which nearly overwhelmed me, were only making a deposit.
I see wonders when I look.