TIDES

At the brightest slip of dawn we cross the dunes, discovering a solitary man fishing, and seabirds, and a small child scooping sand, and broken shells. &ldquo;The tide is going to wash her away,&rdquo; you say, wistful as we pass. Then, correcting &ndash; &ldquo;Her castle, I mean.&rdquo; On our return, the man still, and wet lines on a shrinking beach. a diminished mound of sand greets us &ndash;…