I love that every visit to the beach is the same but different. After a series of king tides an entire strip of what used to be soft white sand where little children made sandcastles is now a mass of sharp jagged rocks that even the dogs avoid. Who could have know that only a few feet below the surface these ancient souls waited patiently to be reunited with sun and wind.
The loss of sand has created a small sand wall at the top of the high tide mark where the grasses and other low-lying creepers grow. I clambered along the top to avoid the incoming tide and found myself up on the tree line. Sprawling across the tussocks of coarse grass and flotsam was a plant with fat, bright green leaves and lovely purple flowers. More fitted for a sheik’s tent than the barren sandy desert she accepted the attentions of a beetle and my humble adoration as her due.