The bird wafted on the wind, eye to eye with a solitary figure on the crest of the dune. Sleeves rippling, the man felt the sting of the sand on the side of his face. He was here for the wind, but the wind usually had its way. Gnarled oaks hugged the hollows. Roads went under with the march of the sand. Drifts plugged one inlet, storms pried open another.

continue