Each morning, she would walk out on the beach, searching the flotsam at the tide’s edge for what she could find. Most days, she came back empty-handed. Most days, it was mainly just seaweed and other odds and ends of a throwaway world, thrown away to ride the seas until they were dragged up by the tumbling waves and left upon a beach like this one, only pausing, until another tide came along and washed them away again.
Her life was like the tides, washing along the beach each day, taking and leaving whatever she found on this floating boundary between the land and the sea. Taking some of them back with her into the depths of her own life in order to make sense of something she did not know how to name.
There was a world there, she was sure of it. Something that lay beyond her world of sea and land and where they met to exchange gifts each day. She knew these things she found; these oddments and fragments were from another world that lay at some angle she could glimpse, but not see.
She knew if she took these objects home with her; to the room high under the eves of her cottage, she could spend her days arranging them until they all fell into place and she would have the key she could use to unlock the door to this other world she knew was waiting to welcome her.
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