Did you ever build an enormous sand castle, then sit back and watch the tide come in? I used to do it over and over, fascinated by the tidal flats that pretend to be a beach in Geographe Bay.
It’s more slow and sadistic than jumping on the castle like Godzilla. And there’s the faint possibility that this time, maybe, your sand castle will outlast the tide.
They never do, though.
My life is turning out like that. I’m sitting back, watching it erode from underneath and it all feels insidious and inevitable and sad. No amount of bailing, no moats or walls or dams can save it now.
The baby is fine, and so am I, I think. But I’m also alternately angry, sad and shocked. Everything is changing, and all my assumptions, all my starting points, need to be re-examined.
There’s nothing to write, because I’m between. Until the tide goes out again, there’s no where to build.
But it’s not all bad.
The beach will still be there, with rips and bars in new formation to be explored. Sea glass and driftwood and sand washed clean. New beginnings.
Maybe I need a new blog