Once upon a time, I stumbled across an ancient fireplace built from the rounded stones of a battered island and glued together with seashells. It faced west, totally secluded and away from prevailing winds: a quiet, sunny, still place, across the shark-strewn channel from the mainland.
I've never found it again. Every time I return, I look for that fireplace. I ask the locals about it, but they don't seem to know anything. The other day, I pulled away the reeds and flannel flowers to find the remnants of a stone wall - but no fireplace. I think about snakes every visit, due to Old Salt's stories of watching them swim over to islands in search of prey, and it slows up my search (especially in the island uniform of bare feet!).