A long time ago, I went on a hike along a coast, perhaps ten days or so. And for a stretch, there were some large and scrubby dunes; we had to leave the solid earth, and walk along the beach itself. The walking was pleasant enough, the sand firm, air cool, sun warm. But it was hard, hard going: the beach and dune ran, seemingly endlessly, completely devoid of features. We would walk for an eternity, look backward and forward, and - nothing had changed. We checked our watches. Time had passed, but we felt stuck on some cursÄ“d plane. It wasn’t until we started sticking bits of driftwood to stand and be seen in the sand that we felt a sense of movement. These little markers gave us something to look back at; something to grow smaller and disappear, to show our legs were taking us somewhere, anywhere - even if we saw nothing ahead.
It has been [checks watch] a little over a decade since I updated this thing. Quite a lot of things have happened. Some are well in the past, and some have only begun. I find myself having come to a beach; my legs are moving, and my watch tells me that time is passing.
Here is a first piece of driftwood.