You.

The screen door banged, three quick muffled bumps against cedar.

I went down the stairs, sand swallowing footsteps.

There was no noise of you following. I turned around, wondering.

And saw you there, hope for so many things saturating those blue eyes.

You just stood there, long hair blowing in the salt breeze of evening.

“Mom, I love this place.”

You didn’t have to tell me.

It was written there on every part of your freckled face.

And my heart hurt with the happiness of being there with you.

Right there on the weathered porch of that little bay side cottage.