I had been alone for much of the day, not knowing where everyone had gone. The tide was coming up, the clouds descending.

I climbed the sand bank and went along a row of luxurious homes, peeking beneath the cement pilings to what looked like a little sandy basement piled with boxes and toys. There was no sign, no barricade or lock, just a plastic toy train, which I moved out of the way.

A large group of children followed me. I knew I shouldn’t have let them in and confessed my trespass to the family upstairs who I somehow knew. They expressed their anger with tight faces and phrases uttered under their breath. They forgave me and explained that this was a place of silence, of memorials and things locked away.

It was a moment of revelation for all, letting these things breathe and talk to one another again and express the sadness for our torn lives.