All summer long it was you and me. All summer we combed that beach looking for precious beach glass gemstones. Ever since my neighbor Michael said red beach glass was the most rare and difficult to find, we were on a mission. The search was on.
All summer we stooped and plucked stones from the shoreline, where the freshest batch rolled in every day, smoothed by the water and sand. We found loads of brown and green and clear glass, and some blue. And we looked and searched for the red. And we did not find any.
When late summer arrived, we wondered if we'd ever find any red. We even found pink, but no red.
Summer began turning toward autumn. The youngsters disappeared from the beach. Our backs were especially strong from so much stooping. My dog was chasing sea gulls when I saw it. I figured it was another teasing plastic bottle cap, but no. We rinsed the stone in the water and gazed. The legendary red beach glass! We rejoiced, dancing, and forgetting about my dog in full violation of the law flying over the sand without a leash. Our mason jar was full, but now it was complete with a tiny speck of smoothed red glass. Then a few days later we found a larger sliver of red. What a week that was.
For anyone who saw us scouring the shoreline that summer, they would have only seen me. But you were there, with me every step. It would have otherwise been such a lonely summer.
You were there, stooping for beach glass and walking my dog, every day with me.