February 2023

The writer’s imagination turns a pile of driftwood into a pirate ship Whoosh, whoosh! The wind whipped my hair. Seagulls struggled to fly against the wind. They were like kites getting flung around, as flimsy as rag dolls. I lay on my back in the cool sand, looking up at the clouds. They looked like gray grandmother curls. The waves restlessly crashed the shore, gliding over the sand, making it smooth and sleek. No one was there except me, my mom, my brother Michael, and a single lifeguard. People may have turned away from the beach today because it wasn’t sunny. That, I thought, was strange. Or maybe I was strange. In my opinion it was beautiful in its own way. Sometimes gray days are better than sunny ones. Sometimes one thing is better than another at the right moment. And the perfect thing to do right now was to go for a beach walk. Whoosh, whoosh! The wind was blowing in huge gusts. I felt like I was going to sail up like a piece of paper! Not the best day to swim. A perfect day for a beach walk, though. You would never know what you would find. I pushed myself up from the sand. Then I brushed some of the grains off my knees and stomach. It was bright. I rubbed my eyes and stretched. “Mommy, would you wanna go on a beach walk?” I asked. “That would be nice, honey,” she said. Mom was wrapped in a beach blanket, like a shawl. Shae was wearing a Red Sox cap on her head. She had on sunglasses that reminded me of butterflies, even though it wasn’t sunny. She had on the pink cover-up she always wore. She sat in a beach chair reading The New Yorker. This was such a Mom image. “Michael, honey, would you like to come with us?” Mom asked my brother. “Sure, I guess I will come with you,” he replied. He was lying facedown on the ground. Classic weirdo Michael. He got up and brushed off some sand, even though most of it still clung on to him. Then we started our walk. Whoosh, whoosh! We made our way down the beach, only occasionally passing a dog walker or couple. It was windy out, and the dunes would blow off little dry clay pebbles that would explode when they hit the sand. When there was a big gust of wind, sand would hit the back of my legs. It reminded me of a classic western movie with tumbleweeds and dramatic wind. I laughed in my head, and my thoughts started drifting away as if they were sitting on a barge on the giant lake of my brain. Whoosh, whoosh! I was deeply absorbed in my own thoughts when I stepped on something hard and grainy. Rocks! I looked down, and millions of little rocks lay before me. Every shape and size, color and texture. It was beautiful. I loved to beachcomb. When I was not swimming, I was staring down and walking along the beach, looking for one that I truly loved. Then I would take it home and add it to my collection. My mom and I slowed down and started sifting through the sand. You never knew what you would find. Whoosh, Whoosh! My hair went this way and that while I was staring down. It reminded me of the golden color on a lion’s mane. I laughed in my head, and my thoughts started drifting away as if they were sitting on a barge on the giant lake of my brain. I shook my head, trying to regain my focus. Daydreaming is good for you, I thought. And I was good at daydreaming. Whoosh, whoosh! Then something glinted light blue in the faint sun that was trying to peek through the clouds. It was mostly unsuccessful. I picked through carefully not to move the glimmer of color. That is pretty, and a bit odd. I wonder what is there? The excitement and curiosity was building inside, like a glass slowly filling up to the top. I returned my attention back to the shine in the sand. Cautiously, I scooped it up and popped it in my palm. Cool and clear like the ocean. A rare treasure. Something that was worthy enough to put on a queen’s crown and wear. It was a beautiful piece of transparent, turquoise-colored sea glass. I showed it to Mommy and she took it from me and slipped it in her pocket. Tap, tap, tap. She patted it affectionately. “I’ll keep it safe for you. I promise, Rach, honey.” We made our way onto where the tidal pool usually was. Right now it was dried up. It had crevices and dips, passages and pools. I ran down to it and galloped along the smoothed-over sand. Michael was behind us. “I am going to stop here,” he called. He sat down and then reclined until he was fully lying down. I looked back at him. He was comfortable and relaxed in his own space. Peaceful, like the day. Mommy and I continued on. We walked quietly. Until she broke the silence. “Watch out, Ladybug. There are some big sticks and driftwood.” “Where?” I asked. “Right in front of you, silly,” she told me, with a quiet chuckle in her voice. I looked down. In front of me were big wooden boards and sticks and pallets strewn on the beachy ground. Like a ship had crashed here. But not enough boards. Hey, that gives me an idea. A pallet for a deck. A stick for a mast. A bushel of leaves for the sail. A board for a plank. Perfect. I would clean up the beach and let my imagination skitter away. “Mommy, I am a pirate. Shiver me timbers!” “Where’s your ship, Miss Pirate?” “I shall be making it with this wood,” I said in my best pirate voice. I thought about Michael. He would