My head is full and chaotic. I try to create order, making list after list, tripping over myself and coming back on myself. Each thing on my mind is like a sharp dash of a black line on a large white board. And the whole board is full, right to the edges, with a mess of dashes and lines that cover my vision. There are only fragments of white left.
There is a particular moment when the sea comes into view. It’s Spring, after lots of storms, and the light is bright and stark. There are white horses.
As I keep looking, and then get out of the car and feel and taste the air, it’s as if the board is cleaned a little. It is rubbed again with each blink of my eyes. I fill my lungs and it is wiped again. Again and again until only the sea itself washes in front of me in its whiteness below the white sky.
I close my eyes and walk, blind, into the sweet, tangy wind.