Sandcastle Waypoint

Green-blue light pours through the water and sets a towering sandcastle aglow, its carved plaque asking Where Vojta? with polite desperation. A bright orange crab holds pose in the foreground, pincers half-raised and legs splayed, feeling the current like a stranger feeling a handshake; tension in its shell says it is ready to defend or point the way. The sign is a deliberate message, not a map, and the letters admit the obvious: Vojta remains unfound. Three jellyfish float like indifferent sentries while distant sand towers blur into the kelp, simultaneous motions folding a dozen search directions into one quiet scene. Coral arms frame the castle as if rehearsing a reunion, flags dangling in the slow pull of the sea, and scattered shells catch the light like little, failed beacons. The tableau reads like a checkpoint on a longer route — hopeful, sardonic, and brooding — where every ripple and posture insists someone is still looking.