No Beach Today

My grandson just invited me

to join his mother, friend, and him
for morning at the beach. A simple thing,
but isn't life a series of such moments?
Tiny kindnesses and unexpected pleasures
that when strung together form a solid platform
we will stand upon one day. And looking back,
we see a lifetime with both ups and downs,
but every simple act of love stands tall
and shining in the memory, with every
hateful word and prideful spite against us
overshadowed, withering without attention.
I cannot go, this morning, to the beach,
but the fact that I was asked is almost,
almost just as grand as if I could. And
I won't have to take a shower, later,
to remove the particles of sand and wash
the salty water from my hair. I'd rather
have to do, of course, all that and more
because of what it represents - hours spent
with laughing, splashing boys, the sound
of waves and bird cries on the wind.
Today I have some other matters to attend to.
But I was asked. Invited. Made to feel
important, welcome, loved. Whatever else
I have to do today, I'll carry that along with me,
and if I listen closely, I can hear the birds,
boys laughing, squealing when a wave
has crashed so suddenly it caught them by surprise.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013