Innocence

INNOCENCE

 (Written by Cheryl Banks in a “stream of consciousness” writing style, also called interior monologue, while sitting at Carlsbad Beach on 12/21/2015)

I watch as children romp and dive into the white cold winter surf oblivious as only children can be to the discomfort as they simply relish in the what IS of joy and abandon in this infinite bubble bath of chilly froth as chill bumps bloom on tanned skin and are instantly warmed by the sun which plays it's silver strokes of light upon the gray blue surface into an infinite horizon nestled under distant white mountains, or are those clouds I'm never quite sure, and the birds - oh the birds join in the fun dipping gliding riding invisible streams, shrieking laughing noises mimic those of the children in a musical cacophony competing with the constant crashing of waves erasing the wet footprints soon after they are imprinted in the sucking sand littered by rocks worn smooth by the endless tumbler of moon-driven ancient tidal pulls and now that wide carpet path of light laid upon the deep from shore to horizon's setting sun shimmers and parts the clouds in a golden array that seems to kiss like a gentle lover the orange tinged reflected expanse while graceful arcs of gray-finned dolphin dip and weave playing in the light as children run and dodge the wet cold squealing in delight and seagulls play and ride the air currents. 
I want to be a child, a bird, a fish - carefree and oblivious to anything but the joy of this moment, this sun-kissed water-birthed moment of pure innocence