Memories not so much lost like tears in the rain but more coalescing in salt spray into a continuum of days – of colours – the muted grey greens of dune plants and stretches of blue sea/blue sky against a backdrop of sun bleached sand.
Childhood holidays spent wandering beaches as a genderless, ageless explorer/naturalist/botanist – leading my little brothers on expeditions to discover rocky pinnacles around the next cove where we scrambled sky high to investigate piles of broken shells cast into crevices by winter storms.
Time and colours stretching through the years to the time when I led my own children through holidays of sunny days and sandy beaches then ice creams at the shop after slogging walks along the shore.
Then children growing up and earnest discussions as to the names of things and the whys and wherefores of the moon and tides –
- then on to lonely midlife crisis, head bowed, walks pondering the way forward.
Now, and into the future – still walking the beaches, the names and whys and wherefores ceasing to matter as some kind of larger meaning emerges – the intensity of the quests, the journeys, the lovings and the not lovings draining away into a continuum of being.