Standing in temperate waters on the beach at Clachtoll in the north west Highlands of Scotland: a warm gift, together with a cargo of shimmering jellyfish, from the Gulf of Mexico to this chilly, distant place. I wonder whose toes have touched the same seawater and I’m reminded of the shared, borderless oceans and seas, the world’s waters that connect us.
Standing on the beach at Dover, looking out over the Channel that separates us from France: I can just make out the coast close to Calais and I wonder who else is watching from the not so distant shore in expectation of a better life, and which seas they have already crossed to arrive there.
Transporting stones without difficulty from Calais to Dover and returning others by way of a simple exchange: sharing primordial resources in advance of the pounding sea that reduces ancient cliffs to rocks, rocks to stones, and stones to grains of sand, which will intermingle and migrate with the currents of the oceans.
Less simple for people, separated not so much by water as by prejudice and fear.