We spread out along her shore collectors in a treasure chest of sand barefoot and free to pillage the piles, left behind. The power that fuels her waves doubles when the winds blow lifting the churning water into a rolling dance towards shore water and land collide. Leaving a mass of tangled roots and broken limbs, rusty cans, and chards of green glass bits and pieces of this and that. Each pile a chest of possibility if luck is abound -treasures are found from pieces of precious driftwood to shiny relics of past. Today was one of those lucky days treasures be- three of us found time to settle down for the night will end like it always does with a roaring Bonfire.