I look behind me. Mom and Dad walk hand in hand at a slower pace, just content with this rare vacation away from the pride. Tamra is closing in, fast on my heels, but I’m faster.Rock formations dot the beach and tower over me. They’re beautiful, curious things. Tamra catches up and we laugh, falling against each other and pointing at various outcroppings, commenting on the silly things they remind us of.“That one looks like a clown.”“There’s a giant rabbit—and that looks like Dad’s nose!”“That one looks like the Eiffel Tower.”“And that one looks like a palm tree,” Dad says, pointing over my shoulder at the rock formation that is really wide at the top and then tapers down to a thin trunklike shape.“Hey,” Mom says, fumbling for her camera. “You two go stand under it.”I stand beneath it, looking up at the stretch of stone over my head. It sends a faint whisper through my soul, a lot like the earth back home. The rough reddish brown outcropping fascinates me, and Mom has to shout my name for me to look at the camera.
