The Young'n Comments

I babysit in the soft warm sand.She runs about on sturdy legs.Perhaps she is sitting me—I do not run much any more.She calls to me. "Great-grand-papa! "Each consonant crisp as a race-caller."Great-grand-papa. Come quick! See? What is it? "Creaking, I answer her urgency, to where she squatsHer attention pointing out the tiny creature.

Once, before I was great—before I was grandI would have answered her. A lesson. A lectureOn the hermit crab.But now I am wiser. "What do you see? "
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