It is difficult to resist walking, beyond the moonlit surf, ans swimming out towards Caroline in england. Her words, in the letter that I pick up today, from an obscure post office, reassure me that while, right now I exist outside of society, in the forrests that fringe its towns, and along road that no cars travel, I do have a place within it with the people I care about.
I wash in the surf, lean forward int othe waves and back against the dragging current.
The cycling of the day, rhte race to the Seignosse post office throught the thick afternoon heat is washed frome me, and in the wind I can bask inthe evening and the knowlege that across the sea, there is someone who wants me.
Content, I watch seagulls, and surgers, and take long blinks. I am tired. The 115km traveled today wasn’t without effort, but it was backed by a strong wind that saw me reach my red envelope with unprecendented speed. Smell of pine and flicker of trees. I try to mount my camera on my bike to capture the blur of pine needles and shadow.
Finish the day early. Ocean is golden at seven, sparrows at my feet, the first glimpse of the mountains I will have to cross, faint impressions of huge forms in the haze. But insignificant too, now that a meeting with Caroline seems assured, beyond them.
