There is something mystical about building a sand castle. You are building something that you know for a fact that if not erected yards away from the seabed, soon or later, it will wash away in an instance. All it will take is one grand wave for your beautiful creation to turn into a pile of wet particulars.

Castle building is art. It is an art form for a selected few. It is relaxing, spiritual, zen, therapeutic. It is artistry. It is a chance encounter recreational art. It is not a souvenir nor an article you can take home or sell in the next market. It is love, dedication, work. You can’t freeze it or taste it. You can only display it until the next tide. It is a pillar of tenacity, an exercise of the mind, here today, gone tomorrow.

In the sand building world, the sand becomes your canvas, your finger, a rock or a piece of wood, your pencil and your thoughts, your guide. It requires love, care and dedication.

This is one art form I never dubbed into nor profess to know but have watched a few brave ones painstakingly diving into it with calmness of a tiger ready to attack its pray, leaving me at hello.

It is drive. love. addiction. gusto. Otherwise, there is no explanation.

Building a castle is tranquility. silence. solitude. happiness.

I found this gentleman at New Smyrna Beach, Florida. He was obviously plunged into his labor of art, oblivious of our presence and just kept going. Last I check, he was still building. I wonder what became of the castle.