Sandy Kisses

I hate to wash our clothes after a trip to the beach. I want the smell of the ocean to linger. I hold my husband's shirt close to my nose and breathe in deep. It's the smell of him mixed with salt and sand.

I love the assault on my senses when I'm sitting on the ocean's shore. Waves crashing hard, birds talking overhead, gritty sand between toes, and face filled with breeze and salt and fish. I love the cold water hitting my knees and damp hands holding mine for balance. I love sand castles and purple sea shell bits.

I sleep hard under a beach moon, waves lullaby. My tumultuous spirit finds rest for a moment.


As I'm sorting dirty laundry, shaking out sand, I hesitate before starting the wash. I take one more deep breathe, getting it all. Letting it take root in memory. Savoring the smell of my sweet family, my husband, my boy, my creative one, my little one, covered in salt and sand and tender love.