An over precise grid consisting of yellow buoys comes to mind. Those are the still guardians of Neeltje Jans.
At the sea front our world unfolds in the form of a massive tile work. My thoughts and actions fail to conform to its precise logic.
A sea of basalt blocks: The manmade island has legs and limbs like an amoeba.
I think of the solitary existence of a ship. The smooth surface of its keel, it’s the ship that can transform to all that that I’ve been in the past. It defines me in all axis. The ship is my home and surely my resting place.
I don’t know why concrete makes me think of my school years.
In the tunnel the echo of my own steps resonate profoundly. My march inspires me to whistle rhythmically. It’s a school march. My thoughts bring images from the past but not my own’s but someone else’s who happened to pass through this tunnel.
I remember the thoughts Nathaniel made when the black night sky merged his being with everything around him. Those nights were sparse, The sea and the sky became indistinguishable. It was then he could set himself in the centre of everything.
I always think of him as a ships figurehead.
waiting for his moment of death Nathaniel viewed the dunes on every side rolling like whitecaps towards the sea. He died in retreat like an bird, nesting.