The setting sun casts gold upon the white beach, and the azure curl of surf takes on a lavender cast as it rushes the shore and spreads a mantle of foam. The waves crest inches from my bare feet, a rhythmic tidal pull that comforts me, promising that life continues. The end of an October day is nothing less than stunning on the small barrier island named for French royalty: Dauphin Island, Alabama.
Graf Milieu, my fiancé, is in the beach cottage I’ve rented for a week. My hope is that Graf will find walking in the sand good therapy for his gun-shot leg and