The castles are wonderful and organic and amazing when well-produced. These are constructed by taking a fistful of very wet sand (a slurry) and letting it drip in a controlled manner from the hand. 1 1 I’ve since learned from Wikipedia that these are probably more commonly called drip castles, though a good number call them dribbled castles. More often though, I crafted what my dad (our master craftsman to whom we were apprenticed) had termed dib-dab castles.
In those nearly three decades, I built a lot of castles, sometimes in the traditional sense, packing sand into shapes and then carving out everything that wasn’t “castle” from the mass. I stayed near the sand until I was thirty-two. I heard the poem in seventh grade and the whole idea resonated with me-the fragility of kingdoms, the temporary nature of everything we are and do. And I liked bits of Shelley’s “Ozymandias.” You know, “two vast and trunkless legs of stone” and all that. I liked bits of “To His Coy Mistress” because it was absurd and, so, funny. I liked a poem an English professor friend of mine wrote because it mentioned Bubo, the mechanical owl from Clash of the Titans. That said, there are a couple bits here and there that I’ve enjoyed. There’s always been some obstacle between me and my enjoyment of what so many others seem to dig on.
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