A creature was lying on the beach, dead and half covered with sand and dried seagrass. I tried to breathe some life into him and he opened his eyes and looked at me sadly. Or was that just a dream?
A bit further on was the shell of a sailboat — someone’s home — that had blown ashore. Holed by the coral stone at the water’s edge, its bones had been picked clean by human vultures in search of anything of value. As the waves washed over it’s keel, I shuddered with the old boater’s fear in the night of losing one’s bearings, or of the anchor losing its grip on the bottom, and being shipwrecked on a reef or a rocky shore. Here was proof that it happens.