Waves And Particles

Molly, waves, particles.

She crouched, reaching into the surf, her tiny hands scooping up little portions of sand that escaped between her minute fingers. Mummy sat watching from some feet away, quoting Molly’s fun with laughter that distracted the seagull away from a stale pastry. Little Molly, tiny Molly, plopped down into the soft, wetness, and clear water flirted against her body in quick caresses while she scooped away at the golden brown texture, inspecting it for hidden treasure, or toys or sweets. The stretch of barren, peaceful beach travelled beyond sight; afternoon mist fogging the view, but enhancing the sense of isolation for coastal lovers- a kind of sanctuary of tranquillity. Little Molly knew no different, as did our seagull that waddled towards the coastline, pastry consumed except for several flakes stuck to its beak. Fifty yards, perhaps less was the gap between mummy and Molly, as the bird could attest if only it could speak! She wailed in joy, and screamed in delight, a sound that was consumed by the noisy surf, and humid air. The Seagull, retreated two steps from this, but then knowing no danger advanced again, its size levelling to that of Molly's.
' Come on back Molly,' mum shouted, her laughter simmered, and apprehension warming towards her daughter, surrounded by a pool of tropically warm liquid splashing patiently over her. But, distant surf, larger, beckoned and bubbled on a threshold within the darker waters.
'Here Molly,' her mummy shouted again. Her daughter scratched away at the sand, inspecting the particles; some fine, glass pebbles, blue coral, minute bits of orange bone, likely to have belonged to a lobster or crayfish. Now, the seagull stood right behind her, almost gigantic in proportion, pecking at the moist air, and stretching its wings.

The Cayman coastline, almost masked in mist now was bordering on eerie, if not for the early moon, like a sun trying to burn through the late day, or the surf way out, thrashing against reef. Mummy walked towards her little girl now, just a head in the water, something she was unfamiliar with; her age denying any comprehension, her hands stubbornly grappling at particles through the waters density.
'Molly, Molly' screamed the mother as her trot accelerated, sand spewing up in puffs behind her bare feet. The seagull, pecked at her tiny blue tee-shirt, visible through the clear water. For a moment little Molly was oblivious to this as her determined efforts to find treasure pursued, and the growing breakers grew, waves building closer to the shoreline. Still, the gull pecked, and mummy’s pace increased, her screams now barely audible in the dusky humidity and swelling surf. A paltry tug bobbed on the horizon, its yellow light barely simmered across the fading day, flickering at the coast in scant servings.
' Jesus Christ' she shrieked, audible to no one but within ten yards of her, while Molly quickly began to realize things. One of them was that she was inhaling water. The pecking gull continued, and flecks of blood emerged in small rivulets through the swell. Molly's hands slowed down, her head disappearing below the line.
Then the seagull was away as mummy’s approach alarmed, and in one swoop fished her daughter from the defiant waves, watery redness dripping off the blue tea shirt.
' Gotcha,' she exclaimed in one long breath.