Many primitive charms must be worked in solitude. On the island I slipped out early to walk the beach washed clean of footprints. My father taught me about the beach at sunrise. All the years I was small, he often would wake me up and say, "Corne on, Bud, let's go to the beach." (I was "pretty as a rosebud" then later just "Bud" or "Buddy.") At this hour it's easy to see why these are called the Golden Isles of Georgia. The first peachcream rays slide over the water and strike the sand first, lighting the beach as if from below. We picked up sand dollars together and lined up our collection along the driveway wall. I tell my father the little bones that rattle inside are doves of Jesus's because I saw that on a legend of the sand dollar postcard but he says nonsense, sand dollars are real money that mermaids use. When I break one open the "doves" that fall out look like my baby teeth I've saved in a ring box at home.

They've warned me not to go in the ocean alone. The undertow pulls even in shallow water. My father was sucked under as a boy. He said he knew not to fight, not to try to get back by paddling against a current stronger than man or beast. When a current pulls you out, swim sideways, parallel to the beach, gradually angle in, let the current help you. Since I know that, of course I swim alone. I am nine, and I've had lessons. I can sidestroke all day. I'm a coldblooded little animal and walk into the water at dawn with little shock, ride waves in until my fingertips shrivel, then cartwheel dry. By the time the wobbling gold orb hoists out of the water, I'm on the beach wrapped in a towel with my knees against my chest, every ugly hair on my arms standing straight up, my teeth chattering, though the air is soft and my skin powdery with salt. I like to stare out at the straight blue-ink horizon. How could they ever have believed the earth was flat? Where could the tide go when it went out? Someday I will live here alone and have my own boat and sail out exactly to that line where the ocean and sky meet. I will have candles and a bunk bed and a two-piece bathing suit. So very vulgar to show the navel, my mother says.