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The beauty of things imperfect.

This resonates with me, especially with beach season approaching.
Truth be told,  Summer is going to be challenging.

It's the season to uncover, expose; it's time to have bodies kissed by sun, salted by the sea & covered by sand; white & coarse.

The young & the brave are carefree on beaches, playing volley ball: jumping, diving, spiking with no wobbly bits bobbing randomly about. Swimming in wild oceans with string bikini's clinging precariously to tiny bottoms. Throwing frisbees furiously about, endlessly energized, dodging festive beach umbrella's, deck chairs and sun-worshippers, beached like whales.

I hide.
I hide under wide brimmed sun hats and huge sunglasses.
I hide behind one-piece bathers and tropical sarongs.
I hide away under umbrella's big as houses.
I hide behind being the mom.
It is easier fading into the background now.

I look at myself in the mirror and see the lines etched on golden skin.        
Lines which tell the story of my life.
The wrinkles and tiny lines at the edge of eyes still sparkling. Crinkles from years of love, laughter and smiles. I take my fingers and run them slowly over each one, it evokes memories more precious than gold.

And I smile, broader now, making them more pronounced.                          
I cover my face with both hands, doing Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.
"Beautiful," he says from the doorway.
"You're crazy!" I say, "I'm not wearing any make up!"
"I know," he says, "beautiful!" and he walks away, leaving me to my reverie.

The beauty of imperfections...
Yes, sir, I've earned my stripes.

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