I can see my beloved Horseneck Beach, the rocky edge of Buzzard’s Bay, Southeastern Massachusetts. One of my favorite places in the whole wide word. When I shut my eyes, I see it. I was walking the beach. This was early October. Walking that beach, yearning to be barefoot but not daring. Rocks are everywhere–tiny pebbles to black monolithic boulders–under water, out of water, jutting from grass and hills and sand. Walking the beach of stones it was a miracle I noticed them at all. I squatted down, looked. Someone had scraped the letters, placed the rocks just so. The sand was damp so they’d survived at least one tide, but I knew I was lucky. Wondered about the writer, wondered who the message was for. Some days are just blue ribbon days–when they float in, you know they’re good. I wrote that once, imagining my perfect day. It was a day like that. A thousand miles away from everything I held dear but when I shut my eyes and breathed the ocean, I knew I was home.