I Spy at the Sand Dunes

Three little ones standing on a pedestal drinking from a fountain of spurting water, splashing and laughing too;

Lovely teen-age girls in tiny bikinis stretched out anywhere and everywhere to work on their tans, I want to give them spf 50 but I don’t;

Sweetly chubby kids pushed by morbidly obese parents into choosing the cookies and cream ice cream bars;

Single dads impatiently cake-walking their kids for the holiday and asking me oddly personal questions: Do you think that means he’s had too much to eat? Is it ok to give him this for lunch?

The perma-grin rictus of an elderly man’s death’s head, stumbling and shuffling to an empty seat by the lake;

Large sexy bald man covered with tattoos, hands baby to tattooed girlfriend, seeing me he winks hello;

Three bearded fishermen arguing in not-so hushed whispers about what pop at the concession best complements bourbon;

Me, kneeling at the bottom of the sand dunes, opening my arms as my nephews come hurdling down the hill.


More from the I Spy series.