“No one thinks of spring at the ocean,” Helena mumbles to herself.
Helena paces up and down the Capricorn Boardwalk. The Atlantic Ocean grumbles beneath the pier, waking up as warmer currents tug away the chilly layers. Crabs push out of the san like lost buttons, and crocuses bloom in the storefront planters. She stops to sniff one. It’s not tourist season, so they’ll last a few weeks.
She jumps off the boardwalk, the sand wet beneath her toes from the passing showers, and the dunes are sprouting, patches of green blushes along the shore.
Helena cuts beneath the pier, weaving her way through the maze of supports before she pops up beneath the only food stall currently open. As the Mackenzie family scrapes ZeroFreeze off their ferris wheel, she orders a cup of broken pretzel pieces drizzled with caramel. Harmless small talk with the shy pretzel stall boy.
As she smooths down her sea salt tangled hair, Helena watches the carnivals roll into town further down the boardwalk. Banners in all shapes and colors promise a tournament of bizarre delights. She smacks her lips, the last of the caramel dissolving on her tongue as she considers the annual carnival tournament. Tents bloom like giants’ tulips. The entertainment nomads roam in their camps, secret shows hovering like pollen.
Helena tosses away her pretzel cup and walks into the garden.
Spring is coming home.