Walking along the evening beach, desolate, cold, I look up into the void above and am amused by how apt the phrase ‘wheeling constellations’ is as it rolls through my mind. The immense, sprawling starscape showing through purple dusk; making my mind reel, unhinging inhibitions; it gives me absurd romantic notions of wading through the shifting waves without intention of returning.
There is a place for me to go, across the waters; I’ve seen it on those cloudless days, the blue sky and breathless sea, verdant lowlands on the horizon looking suspended in the air, a fantastic floating landscape. I have to make up my mind, soon, before it transforms with the fall of the sun. That’s when the sea darkens and the mountains blacken; they merge into one, a pitch foreground with fiery light behind. I feel like a doll in a play set, the side of the earth roughly torn, turned to a yawning chasm like the open face of a plastic mansion. I am firmly within this world, but I’m teetering on the edge all the same.
