Drip by Drip

10.09.06

Henry David Thoreau said: "If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them."

Four 8 year old girls scamper over the wet sand to the water's edge, squealing in delight at the endless possiblities before them. The ocean, the sky, the air swirling around their luscious, young skin as they immediately begin digging, scratching at the earth's salty, crumbly surface, as if to reach for treasures in their pockets. The late afternoon sun gleams overhead as the waves creep back and forth towards them, tempting a toe touch, prompting screams of delight as they protect their project. They're not really building anything, just digging, creating some fantasy world that is real to them and believing that everything they do is the most important thing they will ever do in this moment.

A family beyond builds drip sand castles in a lazy fashion, dropping the sandy soup onto the shoreline in drips and drops, creating another fantasy world. A woman saunters along, talking on her cell phone, connecting through unseen airwaves. A couple walks hand in hand. Someone dives into the water. A sailboat catches the wind. A sand plover pokes beneath the surface looking for lunch and tiny sand crabs fight back. A woman suns her back, bikini hiked up between her cheeks to reveal as much as she dare, buttocks glistening for all to admire as she reads her book. What world is she dreaming of?

The beach seems this magical place, where we undress and stretch, relax and play in a much different way than in the mountains or at a park. The push and pull of this oceanic force perhaps reminds us of that primary bath we swam in before being forced out into the light. Our feet can grab the earth more fully in the sand and leave long trails of footsteps to remind us of where we've been. Our skin craves the sunlight, even as our eyes squint out the glare. Our hair lifts and curls with the humid breeze and our skin, to lick it, offers a salty tang.

Sandcastles as images of dreams and hopes. So easily built and just as easily swept away by an unexpected wave, or a bully's stomp, the winds of time. We build them in the stories we tell, the dreams we share, the plans we make, the fantasies we entertain, the things we buy. Some are impossibly ornate with shells and beach treasures, multi-leveled parapets, moats and passageways. Some a simple cone fashioned from an over turned beach bucket. Others the layers of slow drips built on ever smaller bases. These castles we build seem instinctually driven; it's a rare beach without one, a rarer child who doesn't want to build one. Ever mutable, fragile yet magnificent, they embody our need to create and recreate, to imagine our power to stop time yet also our ability to accept loss and then, drip by drip, to start over again.