There is a liminal space between the sea and the shore, where waves crash, flutter or creep between the rocks and the sand where we trudge.
The boundary between sea and shore seems disorganised, spontaneous, random, changing day to day and hour to hour, as the tides advance and recede.
As Kitty-the-dog sniffs about, thrilling in all her senses, I muse on changeable-ness and impermanence.
Wild though it is, sometimes very wild here on the west coast, I am struck by the thought that in actuality, barring the odd REALLY unusual occurrence, the waves and tides are bounded and controlled by forces I don't comprehend, connected to the moon, gravity and the like. And by consulting my tide-tables I can, with some certainty, know what to expect at any given day or time in the year.
What if my life, I muse, my goings-out and comings-in, are in actuality bounded by something somewhere I can't comprehend or grasp?
Raising our eyes to the horizon, where ominous clouds are gathering, we decide to run for home ahead of the incoming storm
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