The sea is penny grey, an ocean of soft, glassy, rolling ripples. Gently lapping the shore in a hushed breathing rhythm . I am held, enveloped, moving with the swell. I wonder if I stayed in the water for long enough whether I would be sculpted like ancient driftwood. Offered back up on the stones, a weathered treasure. Time suspended, the constant horizon an un-moving shelf of soft tonal shift. Sea birds skim the surface in linear flight, slicing through the air. Stillness shifting.
Creative Life in Suffolk 