"Everybody needs his memories. They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door."
–Saul Bellow

When I think of a memory that keeps the wolves away, I think of a day spent tide-pooling with friends. I think of five free girls running on the beach. Of five kids with minds wandering and hearts wide, wild hair flowing behind and long shadows racing to keep up. I think of five friends and one teacher yards behind wondering when we would start the "science" part of the Science Club.

I remember smelling the salt air–although it doesn't smell salty. Salt smells like corn on the cob at a family reunion. This smell is a mermaid's hair as it catches on a piece of vibrant orange coral. This smell is the mystery of underwater castles and schools of silver fish.

I pick up a long cord of sinewy seaweed. I stare at it, wondering what its story is. What dark, slimy fish darted by, chasing a tiny animal? What patterned sea turtle nibbled on its leafy tips? Whatever its story, it makes a wonderful jump rope.

I feel like I am part of the earth, connected with all beings. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, as the rope goes around and around. Most of my friends hang back, and I take my makeshift jump rope and run down to the water. I jump through the rope, fast at first, then slower and slower. The dying sun shines through my sea-rope.

I think as I jump and jump, that I never want to forget this moment. I want to remember it
forever. Time slows down. I see every detail in the watery terrain: the packed sand beneath my
feet, the swishing rope going 'round, and 'round, and 'round. But most of all, that dying sun,
sinking as if weighed down by something just below the horizon. I give the sun away, give it to
another day in another part of the world. I feel a connection to those other people in that other
place. As I say "Goodnight", someone is saying "Good morning". I am reminded that no matter
how different we may be, we are all under the same sun.