Brooklyn. 2008

Further memories set in stone and steel - Jerusalem. 2011.

Time Starts Slipping Away...

Minutes are like hours. Hours; a year.

And years... They are inconceivable. They might as well be an eternity.

And now each day melts into another. Winter is giving way to Spring and another year washes by like a wave on stone. It will slip fluidly and invisibly from one into the other. Fine edged memories; clear and sharp, smooth over time. Single moments dissolve into endless thoughts in a vast green sea.

Crowhurst. 1990.

I remember taking long summer walks with my father. He would take long strides, and wade through tall grass. I would struggle to keep up. Hills would seem like mountains. He would place me on his shoulders, and we would climb the peak together. I would sore high above the ground. I would snap branches from trees, and tear leaves from the air. He would show me edible plants and funghi. 'If it looks edible - it probably is.' A philosophy I will not pass on. We would pick wild garlic, and jump streams. The fragrant smell of damp ground - slightly sweet from decaying brown leaves. In the heat of the day it reminded us Autumn was once here too. We would talk about the important things in life. In my juvenile ramblings I would educate him in the ways of the World. He would just smile and enjoy the time we had.

School was just an intermission between weekends. School was the gap between fun. Friday afternoon was the start of my week. Sunday night was the end. Monday through Friday was just waiting time...

I remember walking open fields. Grass chest high. Insects would swarm around our faces, and cows would come to great us. I was never afraid of animals. Was never afraid of getting lost. I relished us taking a wrong turn. Climbing a fence too soon. Venturing onto a private farm. I remember tall cliffs. I remember looking down at the sea and hearing gulls scream. I remember the sight of a field of red poppies, and the smell of horses. And dusty tracks formed from thousands of others before, and after us.

You will wait another day before completing that letter.

You will call that friend tomorrow. Maybe. And tomorrow will become next week. That week can become a month. And a month becomes too late. In the end that letter will never be written...

Losing those close to you.

Inconceivable.

What is this all about...

I'm not quite sure.

I have always been fascinated, and strangely drawn, to large stretches of water. Specifically the coast. I spent my childhood weekends in Hastings with my father, and every day, we would walk to the beach. He owned a pharmacy that sat under a great big hill, and overlooked a brown pebbled beach. And an ominous grey sea. As he worked I would venture out, pocketing a Chupa Chup, and just sit on the stones watching time pass by with every wave.

I love the peace the sea can bring, and I admire its absolute vastness. It's absolute and unforgiving power. Nothing on earth I believe has such omnipresent and complete constant force behind it. Volcanoes erupt and die. They wake and then sleep. Like cruel giants grunting in their sleep. The wind will howl, will tear trees form their roots. But in a second will die a quick death. Only the carcasses of fallen houses, scattered leaves, fallen pilons will show it was ever there. Yet the sea - it will turn, and churn. Crash and smash long after you and I are gone. And the stones we throw will erode into sand and dust. Broken memories. Scattered over shores. And eventually lost.

Again. What is this all about?

I'm still not quite sure.

I will visit again tomorrow. Perhaps something will have changed. Even something small...

How far will people go?

Coney Island. 2010

Why do people lie?

Where do these lies end?

Take a walk by the sea. Things will become clear.