Her Floppy Red Hat

It was a windy summer day, in the quaint, little island town. Wind gusts coming from the bay, pulling flags and umbrellas down. I watched a little girl, running through the sand. Laughing she would spin and twirl, a seashell clasped in her hand. One thing stood out from the rest, a large floppy hat of bright red. She proudly wore it, her Sunday best, it was big enough to cover her head. She came searching for seashells, pretty ones that she could share. Running along, she tripped and fell. Up went her hat, flying through the air. She began to look all around, her floppy red hat was not there. In the water, or wet sandy ground, it could be almost anywhere. She walked back to her beach mat, got closer, stopped and stared. There was her big, floppy red hat. Returned by someone who cared.