12/6/06

An impenetrable sea mist arriving over the mill-pond water coated like mercury with the night - fudging the distinction between water and night sky - yet the moon above remains bright, full, untouched by this fog - the engine of a boat never seen, no lights, no clue to its whereabouts, the sound carried greater distances at night, with nothing to reflect the sound away - even inland the sound of the waves breaking on the shore are audible at night - this constancy is a beautiful thing - peace-making with place, history, another journey of self - beneath the revealed craters of the moon and the wayward avenue it creates on the gentle waves - but words can't really suffice here, only music can do justice to the sea like this, it’s the only medium that can come close to the potential and the reality and make art of it - set the right tone; my words can't hope to come close -

I'll take the old red bike along the coast road - watch a last Harrier cruise low over the salt marsh, his blue-grey wings idling in the morning breeze, head tucked down low for hunting -

The clowns Flip, Flap and Flop are separated and not happy - the youthful vigour of their time on the coast will not pass easily, it has imprinted itself on their souls and they remain pleasantly marked -