sunny days. rainy days. island days.

The forecast looks a little bleak.

Miniature storm clouds with tiny strikes of lightning and six raindrops below each cloud.

That’s what King Solomon’s weather ap is displaying right now.

But we’re here anyway.

Weather or not.

And tonight, immediately after our Suburban’s wheels crushed across the oyster shells in our driveway, we all tossed on appropriate swim attire and booked it down the street to the beach.

The sandy, beautiful salty warm water.

The Atlantic.

Low tide. After six o’clock. No need for sunscreen. Foam. Sand. Shards of sand dollars. A yellow bucket. Hand me down swim suits from one sister to the next. Face masks from Sherry that have changed the way Hawkeye and Mosely approach the sea.

And I think we all know – its going to be a good week.

A tin tray filled with far more than the normal amount of special treats.

Shared beds and Shel Silverstein by lamplight.

All eight of us, sharing the same space, the same schedule,

the same agenda.

I think it’s called vacation

but I’d rather call it –

life . . . amplified.