Crazy

Under the midday sun,  
in that incessant humming of the sea,
breeze ruffling your hair,  
you stared at the small depressions 
on the sand;
footsteps of a child  
who has had a morning of freedom.  

Retraced those footsteps,  
trying to follow to the end,
but they circled back.

In that evening light,  
a little girl laughed:  
“Look, Mom, that crazy man  
is going round and round.”  

Said the mom:  
“No, my darling, he is not.  
I do the same,
when you are around.”

...and the sea's humming goes on...