The air is green grey, heavy and chill. The stones jade, rose, dark purple-grey. Here and there, a lighter, warmer yellow-brown. Water rolls up and over, slides up and over these stones over and over in layers, over-lapping itself, unfurling. It has tongues and veins of white foam that reveals bubbles as it pulls out and away again from freshly wetted stones that softly catch the soft light. The air smells green-grey and is cold and damp in my nose. The water tumbles up and over the stones, rolling and mixing itself and then falling back. Tossing itself and crawling and scrambling over itself. The sound is constant. It acts in my ears like the water acts on the stones, pushing itself between and around and over. Filling up the spaces and then coming back again to replace itself.
I feel a certain tension. Annoyance. The water is relentless. But I also want more. I want it to stop it's coming and going and just cover or just recede. I was drawn to the luminous, rich colors of the stones and the contrast of the white foam as it fell and parted around them. I can't decide if I am the stones or the water. Am I being washed, rinsed...or assaulted? Tickled or worn down? I am amongst stones and I won't move unless I am moved. I will have no choice if I am moved. I pour myself over a motionless beach of stones and my tongues make a song as surfaces slide over and against. Where stone and water meet, there is an inhale andfoam is born. It dissipates in the space of an exhale.