Change happens.

So, I walked the walk and was filled with wonder as I passed by countless castles. Carved by the storm last night, the beach had been torn away. High tide left little room to pass. Walking close with walls of sand overhead gave me the feeling of seeing the valleys, buttes and cliffs of the Grand Canyon. Turret-like, almost mini castleswith layers of sand in various degrees of drying left stripes and unique edges. It looked like lace along the top, as those miles of carvings held onto the furthest most outposts before they dropped off the jagged edge and were swept away.
Gone were the fish of previous days, gone were the rocks, and absent were the usual pods of seals that greet me along my way. Gone were the ropes and signs that protect the plovers. No boundaries. No lines to keep clear of. The rusted steel beam that held my vertical wood logs in check, gone, but appeared further down the beach in the treasure trove. No landmarks...the square white bottle at the half way, picked clean by another contributor. Amazing how quickly things change. In place, dredged up from another place and time came quite an assortment of new large beams, different logs and stranded lengths of ropes, tangled, bleached and worn. Yellow fins, a hiking boot, a zippo and the ever present balloons made there way to the now well visited trove.
On the journey back, I spotted a beautiful piece of driftwood, worn smooth. My new small sculptural pile untouched by the tide, being high up next to the comfort of the dune appreciated the deposit. I could paint.