Squak! Bark! Bark!
With each step, the pale dry sand yelps and squeaks, emitting strange sounds as we shuffle our bare feet along the isolated Oregon beach.
We laugh out loud, my new husband and I, delighted by the wondrous concert created by the interplay of our dancing toes and a trillion tiny bits of glittering quartz.
Singing Sand, it’s called. Only a few beaches in the world have it, these sands that tell tales. Scientists think that some combination of moisture, minerals, and air gifts the sands with song.
My poet-mind wonders if the songs are instead the barks of fairy-seals, the ancient voices of selkie wanderers trapped within the dunes. We play the sands like an instrument, releasing the songs to ride free on the salt winds.
On we walk, hand in hand, sea spray stinging our eyes, low grey clouds shielding the sun.
Our footsteps call. The sea lions basking in the offshore waters call back, their songs carried on the ocean breeze. Perhaps a few notes will nestle in the dunes, until other barefooted dancing children pass this way again to free the songs from the sand once more.