The air is green grey, heavy and chill, the stones jade, rose, deep purple-grey; here and there, a lighter, warmer yellow-brown. Water rolls up and over, slides up and over, 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 catch a soft light. The air smells green-grey and is cold and damp as the water continues rolling and mixing itself and then falling back. It tosses itself and crawls and scrambles over itself. The sound is constant, it acts like the water acts, pushing itself between and around and over. It fills up the spaces and then coming back again to replace itself.

I can't decide if I am the stones or the water. Am I being washed, rinsed...eroded? I pour myself over the stop-motion beach and my tongues make a song as surfaces slide over and against. Where land and water meet there is an inhale and foam is born and dissipates with an exhale.