I’ve been living on an island for the past 17 years. Beaches feature in many of my posts. The gulf stream pushes warm water from the the equatorial regions north west, past the North American continent across the Atlantic to wash around our shores. I muse over where these pieces have been, where a tree was upturned by fierce breakers crashing into a shore and was ripped away where a plank of wood might have fallen into the water to travel the world. Who’s hand have handled these pieces? They are an echo of a story, a life that once was…

I see them as treasures, little gifts to me, to my friends around the world.

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