“Hello, she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child. “I’m building, she said.

“I see that. What is it? I asked, not really caring.

“Oh, I don’t know, I just like the feel of sand.

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by. “That’s a joy, the child said.

“It’s a what? I asked.

“It’s a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy. The bird went gliding down the beach.

“Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself, “hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.

“What’s your name? She wouldn’t give up.

“Robert, I answered. “I’m Robert Peterson.

“Mine’s Wendy... I’m six.

“Hi, Windy. She giggled. “You’re funny, she said. In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me.

“Come again, Mr. P, she called. “We’ll have another happy day.

The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother.

The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. “I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared.

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