Crayfish and Feathers and Shells, Oh My

It's not the forest filled with talking trees a la Wizard of Oz. It's even better. It's the beach at sunset. The glossy-wet freshwater lights up the shoreline treasures and the yuckiness instantly becomes 'fantastical'. We've made a pact to walk the beach every night from seven for half an hour, then to our comfy chairs to sip fresh coffee, read a chapter or two; all the while the young ones will play in the sandcastle puddles or skip in the shallow waves. It is our new tradition to stand in a line holding hands moments before the burnt pink-orange sun sinks into the turquoise horizon. We will make wishes and as soon as the ball of fire is gone we will exchange Eskimo kisses to cast the wishes in stone. I will make a wish for you tomorrow night. Any hints?