I’m on the east coast and got to walk the beach with a dear friend today. Together, we sought shells that I could bring home to share with my granddaughter. Along our walk, we came across a construction area on the beach, where they’re digging huge pits that were filled with water. We navigated our way around the perimeter of each, wondering what they were for while marveling over the great assortment of shells that, long buried, had been unearthed during the construction.
Walking the edges of the pits was odd. One minute, I’d be atop the sand…the next, one of my feet would sink and my leg would then be buried up to above the knee, as if I’d stepped in a huge snowdrift. One of these times, I sunk so deep, first one leg and then the other, that the only way I got out was to have my friend pull me. Laughing, we marveled over how the pits really should have been fenced or at least taped off, seeing as how a person, if alone, could easily get stuck.
The oddest part was that when I sunk into the sand at the edge of the pits, what my feet came in contact with was honest to goodness clay. You know… the stuff we used to make things out of when at school. And let me tell you, that stuff acts like quicksand, sucking you right down into it! It grabbed hold and wouldn’t let me go, thus my friend having to pull me out.
Together, my friend and I managed to circumvent those pits without getting overly stuck. By the time we were done, we had a lovely collection of shells that I hope my granddaughter will appreciate. 
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