Time Stood Still
Joyce McDonald Hoskins
The sun filters through the overcast sky and casts patches of sunlight on the sand. Surf’’s up and the surfers are out. A sixty-something guy, bald on the top of his head with a ponytail hanging half-way to his waist, manages his long board under one arm, and cradles his sixty-something gal with the other. They walk as one. Her gray pigtails bounce as she walks along, legs as spry as her twenty-year-old heart. Time has put its imprint on their bodies, but like the old woody left parked, they still have miles to go.
Brothers, three and six, hold hands as the surf teases around their toes and ankles. They dance with delight, unaware of their mother’s watchful eyes.
I hold the spring morning in my heart and time stands still.
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