The sun’s shine falls light as linen and its warmth blankets the cool breeze. The boys climb high and slide quick, tumble low and dig deep. Bottoms of feet burrow into cold sand, and plastic trucks push through tunnels made with small toes. Long, little boy arms wrap around my neck, stretching out my smile from sea to shining sea. Bright rays of sun sprinkle the bread of my pimento cheese sandwich, and I am reminded that everything tastes better eaten on a quilt spread out over the ground. I cannot help but notice that these children appear about ten shades happier today, dancing freely in the middle of spring’s grand opening act. This Monday morning is all dressed up like a Saturday afternoon. I receive this gift and give thanks.
Without thinking, I begin to trace a capital “W” in the sand with a stray stick. The beauty of spring's arrival seems no match for the sadness of Webb’s absence. But as quick as a stolen kiss, gratitude swoops in to lock arms with sadness. Upon meeting, these equal partners immediately fall in sync and begin to dosey doe inside of me, arms locked and feet in motion. Sadness has met his match in this perfect bride, gratitude. As my hand leads the stick to complete the last slanted line of the "W", I find that it also lifts gratitude's white veil. I receive this gift and give thanks.