Sand between toes never feels very different than it did the first time you were little, and saw the shore and beach before you. And the way the cold water stings, and takes your breath away, that’s all the same.
The hush of the waves that make everyone speak up a little, and quiets conversations more than an arm’s lengths away, that certainly is just the way it has always been. The way your hair gets tangled by the sunscreen and salt water and wind, the way your body sighs in relief when you pull that tshirt over your bathing suit and sunkissed skin, you find that oh,so familiar.
Sure, the magazines are now yours and not your mother’s, and there is Pims in your cup, and not lemonade. But, really, all that has changed is the furrow in your brow. The one that isn’t there from a lack of sunglasses and squinting, but the thoughts that go racing through your mind. Even as you work so hard to float them out over the Atlantic, send them out to Ireland, let them trouble some other Tara in Galway. It’s just those unending queries, relentless as waves on dune lined beaches, that distinguish you, from that child you were, not all that many years ago.