Summer slow

"May-be we should throw them some fish. They seem to be turning into seals," my sis suggests when we watch the children, who have no plans of coming out of the water. Five heads bounce like little balls in and out of the waves. The wind has whipped the sea all day. The white rabbits riding on the waves tell us that no fishing boats will go out this evening. That's one task off my sister's to-do-list. There isn't much on the list anyway. A bit of watering in the garden. One of us has to make supper, but if we have no great ideas, sandwiches appear on the menu. Nobody protests. The rest of the evening is free play and reading.
"Remember, we were just like that when we were kids. We spent more time in the water than on the land. No matter what the weather," our cousin K. reminds us, and we all nod in unison. We may have lost our webs between toes and fingers, but we still remember how to squeal in delight when our bodies become weightless in the waterworld. It certainly had been fun today, trying to jump over the waves in the low water, getting splashed all wet in knee high water, and plunging head first into the waves in deeper water.
The wind blowing from the sea brings goosebumps to my wet skin. We are moms, not kids anymore. We pull beach towels like shawls around us, and dig our toes deeper in the sand. The sun has hidden behind a cloud and it feels chilly. Other people have left the beach.
"The water was warm, but I don't think I want to go back. It's best to get changed," I suggest. A sigh of surrender follows my words.  Then we perform a circus act with beach towels as we slip out of our wet bikinis and wriggle into underwear, t-shirts and skirts. As a final act, we pull sweatshirts out of our beach bags, and can now sit, warm and content, and wait for the kids. We are in no hurry.