Cape Cod memories....

We walked down to the beach...

family, that I hadn't had the chance to see in years...

talking, laughing, remembering....

shoes shed, rocks and shells gathered...

capturing images here and there..

fun...

My feet, swollen from 2 days sitting in a car,

the water felt so good,

cool, startlingly crisp...

rocks felt like God's massaging thumbs...

The smell brought back summers with my grandparents

at a home only a matter of a few miles away...

Too sad to visit...

not ready to see the house transformed into

someone else's home.

Why do memories mean more as we age....

are they really more important?

Or do we begin to sense that there may

be only a few more coming...

Is this morbid?
I don't think so...

I think I am only beginning

to realize how blessed

I am.