But sometimes, on rare days in the sticky fog of summer, one of us will step off of the boardwalk and onto the sand and turn her back to the sea and find herself sinking to her knees in astonishment at the generosity of this place: at the cool wind twisting in her yellow-green hair and the sun on her brow and the bead of sweat that forms at her widow’s peak and inches down to her lips where she licks it away and is grateful for the salt. This place that has lent us what little it has of itself with such forgiving aplomb.
She might look down only to find a piece of sea-stone, smooth and perfect, robin’s-egg, and pick it up and roll it between her fingers and think: I could stay here. She might think: I could be happy here."
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