This is my place. If the essence of me goes missing, you’ll find it here. In the clear, salty estuary water, somewhere beyond the mud and the smooth stones, beside the little crabs, the crusts of sand, amidst the smell of the milkwood trees. When the sun bakes the ground until it’s too hot to walk on, when the wind blows too hard to venture out around the thorn trees, when the snakes go into the eaves to siesta, you will still find a part of me. The little girl who ran on the sandbanks, the sister who threw back all the fish, the teenager who sulked at the boathouse, the mama who builds another generation of sandcastles, she is there, on shore or off shore, high tide or low, even if you can’t hear my squeaky wet slip slops, you will sense a little piece of this place in me.