Early morning, a lonely beach, and the fog has rolled in. The
bay is calm, small waves lapping at the shore in rhythmic whispers.
From this patch of sand, I can see no horizon. The sea and sky are
one grey distance, the only line between where I am and an empty
universe is the shore immediately in front of me. If I dipped my toes
in the water, I could swim up to the sky, the beach behind me to be
swallowed up by the mist. I could walk to the water, push out,
turning to float on my back – let myself drift to lands and worlds
yet unimagined - leaving nothing but footprints in wet sand.
I continue walking along the beach, leaving a crooked line of footprints. When I reach the end of the beach, I will turn and follow my steps back like a trail of breadcrumbs. I marvel at my own inability to walk in a strait line. I will climb the rocks and dunes from the beach back up to the road, rising like a dark grey apparition. Unfolded out of the sea and mists to land firmly back on solid ground.
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