TALES FROM THE TIDELINE
Softness. That is the first thing that crossed the boy’s mind as he trailed along the beach, glancing all round him at every minor detail as he went. This beach, a beach he had fished so many times before, a place with which he was so familiar, now seemed to be dissolving gently in front of his eyes with the oncoming dusk. As the day slid toward its slow closure, he drank it all in: the soft pink hue suffusing everything, the chill edge to the air, the gentle swill of the tide’s edge pushing its way up the beach, like a memory forming.
“You okay?” Grandad called from just up ahead where he plodded through the sand with his friend. It had taken an age to get to this point, to convince his family that he was a big boy, old enough to fish beyond the confines of dusk and
