Walking the tide line, eyes tracking the scattering of seaweed and driftwood. Tiny treasures present themselves. Churned up by the sea and caught in the sand, slipping from the fronds of surf. Fragments of crab shell, delicate dried whelk egg casings and scribbles of fishing line. Changing with the seasons, peppered with objects lost and discarded. The line changes with the tides and the weather. Sometimes a clear map along the shore, other days fragmented and broken. A peppered trail of whelks eggs, mermaids purses and honeycomb wood. Birds in the autumn migrate across the sea, flying in broken linear formations. They must lose some of their flock along the way along with the feathers shed into the water. Washed up along the shore tattered and stripped by the elements, broken structures clinging to their forms. Storms disrupt the line splaying it across the sand in ragged islands of sea vegetation. Scribbles of tangled grass, roots and fishing line. Ghostly white paper thin skeletal fish sit with polished remains of shells. Winding trails of foot prints emerge and fade, drawing journeys into the sand. The ebb and flow of souls along the fringes of the tide.
Creative Life in Suffolk 