The glare of the sun is giving me a headache. In the car, I wince as the chorus of noise starts up again, an odd mixture of shrieks ("give it BACK!") and unanswerable questions ("why is the sun hot?", or "why are there tides?") Unable to provide suitable answers, I stare pointedly out the window, flipping my phone open and shut over and over as I listen to my virtues being extolled: yes, it is great that I came along today, and yes, I did pack a great picnic, and yes, it was fun to make sand castles, and yes ... what am I agreeing to again? Oh right, it was a lovely day.

I am aching with exhaustion, but I am here, stealing last glimpses of an ocean so far from home, trying to remember this moment but knowing that I will forget it as I have so many others.

I turn to look at the little girl in the back seat. "The moon causes the tide to rise and fall," I say. "When does it stop?" she asks, genuinely baffled. "It doesn't," I answer. "It just keeps on going forever." I turn back in my seat. "I wish I could know why," I hear her say. Yeah, I wish I could know why, too.