It’s September and it feels like winter. Here we are, wrapped up against a sea breeze that sends clouds tumbling and waves roiling while birds line up at the water’s edge immobilized by the coming storm, unable to swim or fly.

“I’m cold,” you say, “I want to go home.”

So do I but we’ve come a long way and we’re not going back quite yet. 

“Let’s walk.” I take your hand and pull you, unsure if the resistance comes from you or the wind.

You grumble and mumble. “I want to go home. I hate this stupid beach. Why did we ever come here?”

I feel you pulling away. I give up and let go of your hand and walk on.

Then I hear a shout and turn towards you. You’re way down the beach. How did you get so far?

You lean into the wind and it carries you forwards. You are caught unawares and you stare at me, surprised. I expect you to call out, tell me to do something.

But the wind gives a nudge, pushes you in the small of your back and suddenly, you are dancing.