Rings and things

We have the weekends off from working on the farm, so we took the winding roads the width of a bike lane up and down and around to a train stop, abandoned old stone homes everywhere, to a coast town called Isle Rousse. The photo is accurate, only not in the 70s as shown. There were two old dogs that slept on the beach, turned around and around in the sand like our dog Roxie at home and then flopped down in the sun and laid there for the whole day. Zack though the yellow one was dead at first, but whew it was not. At one point I set my towel next to the old dog, to feel a little closer to home. The waves just kept lapping softly, the mix of European tourists from everywhere filing by, sun burning strangely in October. Zack and I built a sand castle and as he dug way down to start a moat for the castling device, he found a silver ring. No telling how long it had been there. I used the occasion to ask everyone on the beach if they had lost one - a great ploy to talk to strangers when normally this isn't done. No one had. Our castle withstood the waves but not a toddler wearing nothing playing with his mother.