I scheduled it for a waning moon, the lunar enactment of going into the shadow. The time had come to fully become a winter woman.
I chose a different stretch of the coast for my magic hour walk, and watched the surfers at the world famous Steamer Lane near the lighthouse. As I watched, I realized that even editing is about allowing for the flow, for the skill of riding the waves, taking them as they come. It is all the great sea of words.
The use is this: the upholding of tradition, which is not only for us, but for our ancestors. They thrill to hear the old songs sung, to see the old ways enacted.
We carved our marks, were pleased with the look of them, and then they crumbled, they faded, they blew away or were walked on by people and dogs. The sea took it all, careless of our art, again, again. Nothing lasts but the elements.