It was an odd thing to be on the beach in December. It felt like the time I traipsed through a Christmas tree farm in August. The timing and location somehow grated.
But I was indeed on the beach last weekend, skirting waves with my family. I have no pictures to prove it because I forgot the camera. Last time I forgot underwear. I'd rather deal with the lack of camera, hands down. Anyway. Saturday morning, Dave and I talked long. Our kids played games and we discussed the challenges our family are currently facing. We talked in circles. Or rather, we would have talked in circles if we didn't keep slamming into an obstacle that resembled a stone mountains in it's strength. Impassible. We gazed up at this awe-inspiring edifice of frustration and could determine no ledges, no toe holds....how were we to get over this thing?
We shrugged our shoulders and started our day. It was lovely and odd, as only the beach in December could be. We traipsed along a crescent shaped beach toward another crescent shaped beach separated from each other by a mountain of stone. The stone edifice jetted into the incoming tide. Dave would have risked a toss into the rock in an attempt to get around. I would not. We got closer to the rock and spotted a cave. A hole in the rock. We started into it, all together. Avonlea was in front and soon I could see her sweet head silhouetted by a light at the other end. We were in a tunnel.
We ended up on the other beach.
I found coral and other treasures there.
There was a way through, I just didn't see it at first.
There was a way through a mountain of stone.
A tunnel of hope.