the cove

 There are a handful of must-do's whenever my sister, Alysa, comes to stay: we visit the current art exhibits, labor over new recipes, go to the movies, eat at a quirky hole-in-the-wall restaurant and, most importantly, make a trip to the cove.

The cove means salty air, crashing waves, towering cliffs and a rugged shoreline where the ocean kisses the rocks. The cliff faces stand tall, braced for the grey waters that never cease to slap and spray. I feel closest to infinity whenever I'm watching the relentless sea at the cove.

Alysa nibbled on gingersnaps in her throne of passenger seats as Dad drove us past rotting farm fences and horses out at pasture, their furry backsides swaddled in blankets against the mist, until we reached the cove. We stood, dark silhouettes against the horizon, while baby waves hugged the tips of our boots. We searched for our reflections in tidal pools but could only see the fragmented sky. On the deserted beach, we heard our laughter amplified by the surrounding rocks and it only made us laugh harder.

The things I love best about Alysa count to a million and then some. She lights up both my smile and every moment we spend together. My favorite time with her will always be at the cove, with our tread leaving imprints on the sand and the shore finding a way into our hearts.