I returned to the beach where the previous morning I had a built a magisterial fort and left behind a tin with writing materials to inaugurate a new fort message project.
Three new forts stood a few feet away from mine. Three! They were sturdy as frontier stockades. Someone knew what they were doing. These were pro jobs. There were beaverwood accents.
One was decorated ingeniously with tires. I’d never seen that before.
I investigated them. I went inside and poked around.
On the roof of one fort, wedged between pieces of beaverwood, was a post card of a William Blake engraving! In recent years, I had left behind similar Blake post cards in the fort message tins. They had always disappeared.
I knew there was a master fort builder at work in the area. I am not making this up.
I went to my fort and opened the message tin. I read the challenge. I smiled and laughed aloud like Errol Flynn in one of his swashbuckling movies.
It’s on. I have no idea who you are, or your motives, but let the building begin. Touche with the tires.
This isn’t a competition. This is bliss.