A Blurred Beacon

We sat on the beach – Obama and me. Middle Ages looking castle walls loomed behind us. The beach shrunk as the tide came in, and our little fire flickered brighter under the creeping clouds. We didn’t say much.

The rain started, so we looked for shelter. We left the fire dying and confined within its rusty metal container. The green film on the rampart walls (or was it a castle) stood out as we got closer, and showed how high the sea climbed the charcoal-colored bricks.

I got separated from Obama after we passed through one of the walls. We had some sense of eerie urgency, probably intensified by the tide and clouds. But I don’t know what we needed to do. It was cool to hang out with Obama though.