Well, that's an ominous forecast.
Yesterday afternoon on the beach, a grandfather was wading with his grandson into the low-crashing waves. The boy, naked, must have been a couple months shy of his second birthday, more toddling than walking.
The boy stood on his own, facing the surf, alternately holding his vigilan grandfather's hand and rejecting it, as the waves splashed as high as his chest, his neck.
Every seventh wave would knock him right over and his anxious grandfather would straighten him up has the boy wiped salty foam from his eyes.
Grandfather suggested, physically (it was not possible to hear him) to turn the boy around and walk him back to shore, but the boy would always turn back to face the sea. It was all the old man could do to retard this little naked boy's brave march into the deep.
My wife and I, seated in our reading chairs, held hands and marveled.
Distance (solo w/shoes): 3.2 miles
These sunglasses are ten years old. And a hinge just went crik and suddenly they don't sit properly. Nice timing, sunglasses.
Tracking Treasure Down Playlist
Tracking Treasure Down - Gabriel & Dresden
More Shine - Si*Se
Like A Pen - The Knife
I Get Around - Dragonette
Get Down (Calvin Harris Remix) - Groove Armada
Barefoot run: 1 mile
The girl held her side as we approached the half-mile mark. I suggested we slow down but she said nothing. At the turn-around she pointed out the house which is the official half-mile mark, we briefly waded through a tide-pool, and she announced we would run back, which we did more or less in silence.
When disappointed she can predict the end of the known universe. When determined my girl is remarkably stoic. Which reminds me of absolutely no one.