![f0050-01.jpg](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/1pk99wtk00cqa377/images/fileAOGEG9CA.jpg)
AT THE END OF A MUGGY SUMMER NIGHT there is no early-morning chill. At this level, the rocks become an alien bed of seaweed, barnacles, and mussels that crunch underfoot. For years I’ve returned to this same section of shoreline, delighted to plant my boots on the same stone shelf. In spots, the rocks have eroded into blade shapes that can shred