How do you hold on to time? Tela, Honduras

Stretched out like a lazy lizard, drinking in the sun, I had one hand buried deep in the sand. Rolling the grains between my fingertips and filling up my nails, eyes gently closed, playing with the grains; lost in my thoughts. I didn't even notice the little Garifuna girl staring down at me, until I felt a shadow blocking my sun. Sleepily I opened my eyes to see a curious face with dark eyes, fringed with thick lashes, grinning down at me. A shrill giggle escaped from her lips as she realized the game was up and she had been caught looking at me. She grabbed an empty beer can from the side of my sun lounger and ran towards the sea, letting out a yelp as she bounded across the sand towards the water's edge.

Using the empty container as a toy, she scoops up the sand, tipping it out in swirling trails in the air; shrieking as the wind changes direction and the grains enter her eyes. She splashes excitedly in the waves, letting the water lap in and out of her toes. The sun gently setting behind the ocean transforms her dark shape into a silhouette against the sky; her curling braids beaded at the ends, exaggerated in size in the shadow of her nimble body on the shore behind.

Temporarily her basket of "tabletas de coco" is left on the sand and for a few fleeting moments she enjoys being a child again. Just for a short while she is not trudging barefoot in the hot sand up and down the beach selling home baked goods in the heat. The disappointed frown I had seen as the people rejected her offer of coconut delights has dissolved into a grin, and the beer can, sand and waves provide all the pleasure that she needs.

I think of all the things that I need to make me happy. And the list is considerably longer. I can't take my eyes off her and her laughter is contagious. For a few moments, I too forget the constant pressure of work; the need to perform; the nagging unrelenting internal push to do more. For a few moments the child and I are staring at the same sea, laughing at the same scene and bathing under same sun. Tomorrow everything will be different. We will both be working again. I wish I could capture this moment, but snapping a photo won't make it stand still. Time slips through your fingers like the grains of sand on the beach.

Christina Comben