They walk the shoreline in an unending parade. Families on vacation, couples on weekend dates, groups of teenage girls, teams of teenage boys, and individual travelers of all ages.
They wear bathing suits, sarapes, shorts, sundresses, and slacks. Their hair is controlled by hats, visors, scarves, and headbands. Most walk barefoot but there are those who wear sandals or water shoes- and even some in sneakers who shuffle in a constant dance with the water.
Some have milky white skin, some are burnt lobster red, some have the glow of a perfect tan and some are a mix of all these.
But the folks I notice mos tare the still-knock-kneed children barely beyond toddler years who walk with their tiny hand locked around the finger of a grandparent. The kids move in a stumble-walk as they try to take in the sea, sand, shells, and beach-goers while keeping their eyes on the grandparent who walks beside them. There is a look in the eyes of these children that tells me they revere the grandmother of grandfather who offers a single wrinkled digit to help them keep their balance. These children are in awe and at peace at the same time. They accept that wherever their grandparent takes them is the place they are meant to be and they worry about nothing other than being at their elder's side.
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