A Constant Presence
Several times a year, usually in Spring and Autumn, the tide retreats further than normal and the water gives way to otherwise submerged expands of fine sand — firm, temporary, and brilliantly reflective. It's a sort of marine behind-the-scenes, a rare privilege. On the ex-seafloor rivulets of saltwater dredge feathery beds back to the water edge, and tiny crustaceans and lugworm squiggles pop up everywhere. Both dogs and their owners buoyant with enjoyment. We walked from the Marina to Shoreham Harbour with beer in one hand, and shoes in the other.
While most of human life was still on hold in May 2020, this low-tide paddle felt significant. Weaving in and out of the freezing water, noticing bits of the West Pier covered in barnacles — this simple barefoot walk felt overdue, communal and somehow healing. From above, our city has both arms stretched towards the sea, and whether you pay it any notice or not, it's always there: ancient, dynamic and present. I often went to look at it in those days, noting the colour gradients, and marking off the days.
Photos taken on 35mm Kodak Portra 400, scanned by Colourstream , featuring friends and delicious Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.