Grits

 

The entire time, from the very beginning it has been taking away tiny bits of the beach. Wave by wave, it has never stopped.  It was happening long before the Lincoln assassination and even going on yesterday, while you were doing who knows what.  Each and every ocean wave snatching a little sand, filling its pockets as it goes back out to sea. 

Meanwhile, far across the ocean, it has been adding little stretches of beach.  Freshly washed sand that has traveled for years to cross the vast stretch of water, cold and choppy waves, tossing and rolling as it goes.   All the while mixing and blending with salt, fish sweat and freighter rust. 

That is why as you walk along the sand, you occasionally see sparkles and glimmers.  That is the Sun’s rays striking the fish sweat and freighter rust and clam drool.  It is the sharp edges and various angles of the grains of sand that cause these things to stick.  These tidbits are not the kinds of things you get from textbooks; these have been gleaned for years from observation and the diligent scrutiny of nature. 

In fact, I plan on writing my next book about this very thing.  At the present time the working title is, Grits.  But so far, I have gotten a great deal of negative feedback from the southern population on that title, so it may change.  

ZC