2010 rushes up the beach. Here, teetering at the edge I am on the pebbles before the tide or the sun. I make time stop by pretending to think about nothing.
The seaweed is frozen. Hands of leather shards wave at me. Piped in white icing like driving gloves.
Select shells. That one, no that one, something to mark the day. A habit. Like when we were small sneaking salty treasure into pockets. Oh for goodness sake put them down, what do you want those for?
A girl races towards me brandishing a fist of keys. A hole is discovered in my jacket. Laugh, then look back silently at the rapidly gaining tide. A lucky start to the year. I'll have to get some more shells. They should have snipped holes in our shorts pockets, we could have stuffed them with shells to our hearts content.
I'm thinking about everything and the tide is high. Time starts again.