It was like I blinked and it was the end of summer. The last beach day before my mom headed back to work had finally arrived. Bitter sweet. When we got out of the car, we had about a solid hour before it got dark —just the way we like it. Instead of frying under the scorching sun (being a redhead is hard sometimes), we like to go down as the sun sets and the air gets a little cooler. Collecting rocks, searching for sea glass, that kind of thing.
It was just after seven, so the sand was cool enough to walk at a slow pace and eye up the perfect spot. But after walking in silence for a few minutes, my mom looked up at me and asked a question that stuck with me.
“Do you ever wonder how deep the sand goes?”
No. I had never given the question any thought. Sure, I had dug in the sand as a kid, but I was never digging to the bottom. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to that question, but does it matter? It’s there and it’s now. If it ended a inch below us or went to the center of the Earth, nothing would change the magic of all our sandy moments.
In a way it’s a lot like love. You could try to explain it, but what’s the point? Some things need no explanation. The sun will continue to kiss the horizon and the water to the shore. There’s no need to ask how deep their love goes.
As the sun started to set, the colors of the sky began to fade from blue to yellow to orange. The sun began to sink behind the lake, and everything was how it was supposed to be. I looked around at all the people watching the show and no one was saying a thing. The sky said it all.