Gem Gem never set foot on a beach in her five years. She hunkered down and padded through the sand like it was extraterrestrial--moon dust. The boom of the surf surprised her more than scared her. Looking at me wide-eyed, she leaped up and down like a gazelle as if to ask, "where in the world are we?" Neither would she enter the fresh water brook that runs to the sea on the same beach, where I go every day for the magical place of the two waters. We returned the next day to find that the brook had cut a lyrical meander, leaving a tear-drop spit, like a hand inviting us closer to the gentle current. Sniffing diligently, she led me out the spit and nonchalantly crossed the brook three times. It was tranquil, cool, and safe there. She discovered she could drink. So my new companion, bit by bit, will come to love this beach too.
