We are walking on a beach, your tiny hand in mine, as quiet footsteps disappear behind us. The rhythm of the waves breaks each with its own melody that sometimes bears gifts from the farthest reaches of the sea.
You let go and run towards something the sea will reclaim if you don't grab it. You hold it to your ear, walking slowly back to me, a smile on your beautiful face as you put it in your bag with other treasures.
You said a small bottle could be that of a pirate, and a piece of wood covered in barnacles could be a piece of a treasure chest lost at sea until a storm washed it ashore. Colored pieces of glass hundreds of years old, made smooth by the tides, could have been bottles or glassware from a king's table.
Soon, the sun will set, and the beach will sleep until dawn, when my little treasure hunter and I will venture out again, leaving our footprints to be washed away behind us and a world of adventures waiting ahead.
Mike 2025
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