Vanishing Beach At night, the water level rises and the beach vanishes into the tide. I stand on the overhanging cliff and look for shadows of the lost city under the waves. In the morning, the water recedes and I am given back all I ever missed. For a while, I wished I could live in a small shed on that ledge overlooking the shore. But I want these rituals of returning, fleeing and finding my way back, to the waves and the tide and the stones through the mist gathering over and around us. I like the way that desire takes the place of disappearance. Nature Has Limited Patience for the Human Condition I think that growing old here —in the smiling silence between the ocean and the marshes, among more crows than neighbours, with no way out except by fallible car— would only lead to swelling grief. It is a treacherous crawl across the cliff face to reach the rock I perch on to see the beach. Twilight is growing...