We cross the dunes on a narrow path, stepping over the wooden pickets of a low, rambling fence which may have been put up to retain sand against the ravages of the tide. The stakes, once red, now a softer hue, stand erect only in a few places. Most of them are half buried in the dunes; they are lavender eyelashes lowered against white cheeks.
From “Forgetting Elena”
June 17, 2012 by