Monday, 14 March 2011

Tide time

Out on the jetty, I sat out the afternoon so close to the surf sound that I was lost in it.

Something in my head switched into tide time as I watched each wave race through the wrack and coming tiptoeing onto a green carpet of algae.

And the words that appeared in my notebook that afternoon flowed in a continuous line, looked like they were written by someone else, seemed to make no sense until I carried them in my pocket for the rest of the weekend and read them out loud to a soundtrack of foghorn and quiet waves on low tide sand.