Big tides

The tide has been out for days, or so it seems. The deep and crystal clear waters have been replaced by a green and cloudy uninspired lapping over black rocks.

The coast is on fire. Thick brown smoke has stolen the sun and so I sit on this cliff under yellow cellophane, waiting for the bay to come back.

Waiting for my words to come back.

The new additions to the camp; a shelter, writing desk and chair, seem frivolous now because they have only made it more comfortable for me to sit here typing and deleting boring sentences. I flick ants and the words from the screen because I can no longer tell the difference between the two. I sit in my frustration for another hour because at least that’s doing something, then another one because I gave up my job to sit here. So I sit for more hours, then I walk away.

The tide has been out for days.

The sun sets and I am ready to drag my fuck this attitude into the tent and zip it up tight.Before I go, I take one more look out at the bay. I can’t see the water at all because the moon has abandoned me too.

Where is the fucking moon?! What next?

This next.

On the far side of the bay a massive bush fire that stretches for kilometres is reflected in the great plumes of smoke it is spewing up. It is a brilliant orange mushroom cloud. It is beautiful. Minutes later, I wake up to the whales banging about on the ocean and then a brilliant red sunrise.

An idea.

Today my new writing desk and chair belong here, and I am so grateful for the shelter that allows me to write here comfortably all day. I write and write and I can’t stop because it is good and the relief makes me laugh and cry.

The ocean has become loud. It’s close. I look up for the first time I hours.

The tide has come in.

The rocks are gone. The water is deep and crystal clear. I scramble down the cliff and dive in.