Grief feels a lot like “the middle.” I keep being reminded of what I wrote about middle ground on the “about” page (here) – I wrote “it is sometimes the ground where nothing grows. The wilderness over which the Holy Spirit howls.” Grief is also a waiting time. Everything feels ‘on hold’, even the things that continue because they must.
Last Tuesday my partner Hannelie and I went to the beach. Hannelie makes Land Art and we were hoping to catch the low tide at Seaham to make something before the waves started to come back in. Low tide was around 2 o clock, but we arrived at noon and waited for the waves to slowly reveal the rock pools and the stretch of golden sand.
The tide was already turning by the time we got started building a structure of driftwood dug right into the sand. It was pretty stable, with rocks piled against the bases of the pieces of wood to stop them falling. The tide was coming in fast and I grabbed my camera to capture it.
Things happened pretty quickly after I caught this image. The tide raced in over the heavy stones and eroded the sand. Hannelie was still adding things to the structure when one of the bigger pieces of wood fell. She caught it but there was no way to fight against the tide and the whole thing collapsed, the stones washed into a new pattern by the waves, the driftwood floating out to sea.