Shh

“Shh. Shh.” A boy plays about in the shallows. He collects shells that wash up on shore. He is a child who knows only the simple matters of life. He knows that soon, these long weeks of summer will end and he will return to his arithmetic and writing. But for these short few weeks left, the world is his.

His mother, a younger woman herself, sits watching this boy. It had been many years, many years indeed, since she had come to this place. As a child, she visited often; she stood, herself, upon the shore, soaking in the summer’s last rays of shine.

But she sits restless now. She looks at her son in the sun and wonders how long the shells and shore will keep his focus. The respite they traveled on was now a week past, and this day is the first spent basking above the warm sand. The boy’s focus has, to mother’s dismay, been away. He longed for boardwalks and pizza, for arcades and movies.

The area sure has blown up since the mother was here as a child.

She recalls with a sigh the “Shh, shh” of the breaking waves. In those days, the beach was empty. There were no boardwalks or pizza, no arcades or movies. There was a beach though, which lay unspoiled along the coast, and on it she and her parents could rest in peace.

But now they rest in peace, and she sees her son in the shallows. She has grown up, and so has the beach. Now there are people everywhere. They've heard of the beauty, and come to take as much as they can. Along the beach there now winds a road littered with various shops and restaurants. The peace is gone.

The boy, of course, knows nothing about the past. He sees the beach now for what it is. He enjoys it just as much as his mother had in the past, for he has no memory with which he can compare. It can be said, though, that when he returns here with his son, he will, likewise, miss the older days. These days he lives now will be the best he ever has, for with growth comes death. When everything around him changes, it is the boy’s memories that will keep him unhappy of the differences.

The seashells are now collected. “Shh. Shh.” It’s time to move along.