For as long as I have known this boy, he has stood at the oceans edge and taunted it to come get him. With a hint of glee in his voice he has called her out over and over again. The ocean has answered with more than her share of soaked pant legs. This has never stopped him from returning again to the shores to call those waves out to come and get him. To try their best to wrap around his ankles, pull up to his knees and fill his soul. He has posed as a ninja pulling his power from the ocean itself. It’s not within his ability to stand at the ocean’s edge and not see the temptress before him. He disappears in those moments. To a place I can’t necessarily see. It belongs to him and to the ocean. As time marches forward and much about him changes, I am filled to see these old ways emerging. And also to notice, quite possibly for the first time, he walked away with dry pant legs. I am not sure what this means for the future. But I know he noticed to. In his swagger of confidence as he strolled back to the car announcing he would not need to ride home in his underwear this time.
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