When the focus shifts, when the sea recedes from view, sometimes it is more beautiful. The blurred space that seeps into memory, that becomes memory, more vivid in softer relief, more resonant in dream-like form – this is how to hold onto things. This is the stuff of paintings. It is how we remember.
Like the perfect shore after a gentle tide goes out, what is left is fainter, more rounded, less jagged. The wind hasn’t quite carved it into crystal-clear sharpness, the edges have been blunted into undulating mounds mirroring the water that left it all behind. It is the image that lingers when you quickly blink your eyes shut. The mind still sees.
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