Double Baggers

The foamy white sea glides into the bottom on my feet, gently threatening to soak me. The bubbly white edge of the cool ocean creeps up the shore and swats at the legs of beach walkers.

Medium waves crash at my knees. I stand and stare at the high walls of water looming feet away. The white noise is serene.

A wave breaks and its frothy sea water gurgles towards my legs. Just then, another closes in behind the first and doubles over it to form a slightly larger rush of water.

My Dad would call these double baggers, a special kind of wave. They came often, when he and I would stand and jump over each one. They come often now, as as each wave breaks and another sneaks up behind it, I think of my Dad and jumping over double baggers.