Can't believe what we see
Won't get burned to the ground
But we make ourselves castles
Every tide we're around
-”Variations on a Cloud,” by Musical Miracle
It's a beautiful castle. Tall tapering towers, rustic roofs, wide windows open towards the ocean. Exotic plants bloom purple and red in an interior garden, surrounding a labyrinth laid out in jade.
The beauty is inside as well as out - barrel-vaulted hallways, a library with leather seats and couches beneath soaring shelves, an oak dining table with beeswax candles in crystal holders ready for friends and family.
I'm in its main hall, looking out towards the waves. Unsure which direction the windows face, unsure of the time, I cannot tell whether this is just before sunset or just after sunrise. The Sun hangs suspended, red and gold, an eternal kiss to the horizon.
The castle is beautiful, outside and in.
And it's made of sand.
And the tide is coming in.
The first waves carry away the gardens out front, topiaries and fruit trees and chrysanthemums revealed to be just sand. Less than sand, dust. Colors fall away as the structures crumple under the waters that wash around them, each surge and return carrying away a little more and a little more, till what was elevation and depth is smoothed away.
And still the tide mounts.
It washes against the sides of the hall and mounts up over the window frames, spilling across the floor. And the red rug is sand too, its threads parting at the first touch of water, edges not even frayed but disintegrating to miniscule grains washed by the waves.
The Sun reflected makes the waters red and gold too. The only color is from that light. Everything else is shown to be gray.
And the waves won't stop.
The bottom of the wall, the frames of the windows, wash away, flattening into the beach, rolled out with the returning surf. The roof stays suspended for another moment, but it won't be long. The waves are lapping around my feet now. The waters are cold, but illuminated, impregnated with light.
I'm not moving.
Why would I build another castle? On what foundation? Flee higher up the beach, build again, and the waves will reach there too, sooner than it took to mount to here. Because this tide will not stop. And this castle was mine.
All the time I collected and piled, mounded and sculpted, smoothed and sheltered, I saw the sea only at a far distance. A blue line on the horizon. A conjecture. All this time I spent building and I never looked up till I was done, till the last piece was in place, till the tide was at my door.
As the next wave rushes in, the stairways collapsing, the roof sliding, I fall on my knees. The waves wash over my legs and part around my sides, but don't carry me away. I'm rooted to the spot.
The waves rush out. And surge back in.
As they come, I trail my fingertips through the flood. I pull away less hand than I started with. The very ends trail dust as fine as candle smoke.
I keep myself seated, place my disintegrating hands on my knees. I'm still together enough for now to sit up straight, to look forward.
The waves mount higher, each one carrying more and more away. The castle is gone now, nothing in my peripheral vision to see. Just waters and still more waters, mounting higher and higher.
The last wave was at my neck, and the next one mounts over my head. I blink as the wave rolls over and open my eyes to the aquamarine world. Cool and quiet and illuminated.
And I keep my eyes fixed on the Sun.