I went for a walk along the beach on my birthday with Jack, the foster dog.
I wrote "74 fucking years" in the sand with my toe.
The waves came up and washed it away, as if it had never been.
Interesting things, waves.
It occurs to me that no two have ever been the same.
They are formed by the congress of the winds, the currents and the tides, their character moulded by their interaction with the sea floor and the shore, ending with fury against the rocks or with quiet submission on the sand.
Then they disappear, becoming part of the watery substrate from which other waves will be formed.
It may well be as if they had never been.
But every one of them, for as long as there have been oceans, has moved a grain of sand, shifted a rock, imperceptibly changing the world.
Just like us.
