A Toe Kiss For Montana

I can tell, she's ready to give up the natural beauty that she grew up with back in Montana for this. I don't want her to stay here but I can't say I'd blame her if she did.

The force at her feet is hard to resist.

You look out on that shell of salt water and suddenly a wave pops up, the wave spots you sitting there on the beach and begins waving at you like only a wave can. It's happy to see you. And the closer it gets the more ecstatic it becomes. It's so delirious with joy it forgets about what it's doing and can only think about rushing to see you, to embrace you and splash you with love like a watery dog.

And then it trips, falls, and breaks its backbone. But that doesn't stop it. That wave stretches out and keeps on sliding up the beach with sheer determination until there's nothing left of the wave but its lips, which with one final pucker reach out and kiss your toes before collapsing back into that overcrowded, impersonal sea. And it's worth it—worth a wave's lifetime—for a toe kiss.

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