Oh how I missed you, water and waves. You are only a Great Lake, but I can pretend. I don't mind. Today you are the sea.
He points his finger, yelling "Beach!" He was one week old when we first took him to the sea, when water and wind first splashed his wee baby face. And now he is nearly three and his deceptively fast legs take him home.
There is just something about watching them splash and run, roll around in the sand, fly into the surf with abandon. They are squealing, hopping. They are dirty and wild. We have no rules here, no wash your hands, no don't touch that. We are young and free for the next 90 minutes.
I hold my breath and take in the scent, the breeze, the sky.
Today, Lake Michigan, you are the sea. And we... we are young and free.
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