We cycle up the coast towards Holme, chain our bikes to a tree and walk down a sandy path through a pine grove. S. stops here and there to open her wildlife book and identify some plant or insect. We chat without paying attention to our surroundings and suddenly find ourselves before a wide-open view: on one side the sea and sky a vast canvas of whites and blues, on the other the scrapes and grassy dunes stretching inland.
No story, rather those moments of generous undoing when you’re stopped on your well-worn path and forced to look around with new eyes. Perhaps the only true thoughts are ones you realize have been obvious all along, as when you work on a problem until it seems insoluble and the answer comes to you all at once.
Be still and the world will offer itself to you to be unmasked, it can do no other, wrote Kafka. Here I am, says the world, if you could only see me.