on for the better part of an hour they emerged from the grass and seaoats and stood again on the dry sand of the upper beach. The wind was colder. He'd brought the boy around on the lee side of him when suddenly the beach before them appearedshuddering out of the blackness and vanished again. What was that, Papa? It's okay. It's lightning. Come on. He slung the tarp of goods up over his shoulder and took the boy's hand and they went on, tramping in the sand like parade horses against tripping over some piece of driftwood or seawrack. The gray light broke over the beach again. Far away a faint rumble of thunder muffled in the murk. I think I saw our tracks, he said. So we're going the right way. Yes. The right way. I'm really cold, Papa. I know. Pray for lightning. They went on. When the light broke over the beach again he saw that the boy was bent over and was whispering to himself. He looked for their tracks going up the beach but he could not see them. The wind had picked up even more and he was waiting for the first spits of rain. If they got caught out on the beach in a rainstorm in the night they would be in trouble. They turned their faces away from the wind, holding on to the hoods of their parkas. The sand rattling against their legs and racing away in the dark and the thunder cracking just offshore. The rain came in off the sea hard and slant and stung their faces and he pulled the boy against him. They stood in the downpour. How far had they come? He waited for the lightning but it was tailing off and when the next one came and then the next he knew that the had taken out their tracks. They trudged on through the sand at the upper edge of the hoping to see the shape of the log where they'd camped. Soon the
on for the better part of an hour they emerged from the grass and seaoats and stood again on the dry sand of the upper beach. The wind was colder. He'd brought the boy around on the lee side of him when suddenly the beach before them appearedshuddering out of the blackness and vanished again. What was that, Papa? It's okay. It's lightning. Come on. He slung the tarp of goods up over his shoulder and took the boy's hand and they went on, tramping in the sand like parade horses against tripping over some piece of driftwood or seawrack. The gray light broke over the beach again. Far away a faint rumble of thunder muffled in the murk. I think I saw our tracks, he said. So we're going the right way. Yes. The right way. I'm really cold, Papa. I know. Pray for lightning. They went on. When the light broke over the beach again he saw that the boy was bent over and was whispering to himself. He looked for their tracks going up the beach but he could not see them. The wind had picked up even more and he was waiting for the first spits of rain. If they got caught out on the beach in a rainstorm in the night they would be in trouble. They turned their faces away from the wind, holding on to the hoods of their parkas. The sand rattling against their legs and racing away in the dark and the thunder cracking just offshore. The rain came in off the sea hard and slant and stung their faces and he pulled the boy against him. They stood in the downpour. How far had they come? He waited for the lightning but it was tailing off and when the next one came and then the next he knew that the had taken out their tracks. They trudged on through the sand at the upper edge of the hoping to see the shape of the log where they'd camped. Soon the
The%20Road.docx