A Driftwood Marker

A smooth piece of weathered driftwood rested along the lower slat of the beach boardwalk bench. I walked down the wooden plankway, feeling the fine, dry sand beneath my boots give way to sturdy cedar timbers. At the end of the rail, the horizon opened wide over the rolling surf. I paused, surveying the gentle slope toward the tide line. The grey timber stick was tilted against the iron leg, caught on a dry clump of sea oats. I stepped forward, braced both boots on the bottom runner, and levered the wood upright until it leaned flush against the cedar post. The path was clear, pointing straight toward the water.