Small worlds

This is the beach where I grew up, learnt to swim nearly drowned, watched my nut-brown father home on leave, walk on his hands along the water's edge, his path traced by wet indentations in the sand. That granite crag, our Peak in Darien I recognise each handhold, plateau, cleft but where my small foot found a perfect fit there is no space for feet the size of mine. Grandchildren search for shells and fish for shrimps in pools which seemed so bottomless to me I close my eyes and shrink to share their view feel seaweed fronds wrap round my heels to peel back all the years from then to now.