Crawling to the Cross

There was the sea. It went on forever in endless green gray ripples.

There were the gulls. Swooping and shrieking with their beady eyes and missing feathers.

There was the white lady. Stretching her swimsuit to its limitations, screaming at her children to be quiet.

I stood there captivated by all these images at once.

For a moment, I forgot where I was.

When I turned to find my son, he was walking away from all the things that occupied my mind.

He was, instead, walking directly to an old wooden cross with the letters INRI carved at the top.

How had I missed it? Why did he find it? What made him choose to walk to it?