Simple Habits of the Tide

Rose earlier than usual. At least, I think it was earlier. We don't bother with clocks here. But the sun seemed to be just setting out on its diurnal travels, so it seems a reasonable assumption. Went across to the house and put water on for coffee. Made the fire, although took longer than would normally be the case as I kept stopping to read old news in the papers I was screwing up. Not quite the same as reading breaking news, but seemingly alluring all the same - it has a charm of its own, as if it is more a fable than something that actually happened to someone somewhere. Got the fire going, consuming all the old news in the process - so easy is it to erase catastrophe, suffering, disaster - then made my coffee and sat out on the verandah. Read Sherlock Holmes and contemplated the mudflats, deserted now by the tide. It goes out, it comes in, goes out again, for all eternity, or at least until an end of days of some sort interrupts the flow. Contemplating the simple habits of the tide for too long can set a man's mind adrift, and he can't be sure of getting it back any time soon. 

The tides goes in, it goes out. Then in again. Wow.