Today is the first day I’ve been able to walk properly in over a month. (I had a small operation on the sole of my foot and it’s taking an age to heal.) How amazing that my reclaimed mobility is on Beadnell Bay.
Everything is so beautifully temporary and permanent. I can’t explain this contradiction but I feel it down in my body, somewhere near my diaphram. We weren’t here. Now we’re here. And then, some time in a near or distant future, we won’t be, again.
Rachel Carson understood the inter-connectedness of things. And reading her books is helping me to understand too.
A walk on the beach reveals the brutal and simple truth that we are conceived, born and die. Whether we have a day, a month, seventy years, or longer is really of no relevance (not in a bigger-picture, biological and cosmic sense).
So when I see the whorls in the shell resonating in Mel’s fingertips, when I find a frond waiting for the tide to return and an eviscerated rabbit I know that every living thing is unique and unreplicatable. This seems miraculous.