This little inland town is, in my mind, but a scene-shift from a beach. My bare feet travel the corrugations of moist sand. Sea water seeps between my toes. I’m close to the frothing shallows. No going back. I walk into the surf. The greenish waves glisten to the horizon. I wade on. The water is up to my thighs. No going back. I dive into an approaching wave and emerge on its other side, swim a few strokes, feel the shock of the cold turn to silk. Motionless I float on my back and gaze up at the sky. My hotel is high on the cliff. Mrs Llew is reading in her deck chair. I tread water and look out to sea. Harmony without and within. In gratitude I sing The Gloria to myself.
