Time has been busy. It has been delivering changes, challenges, and a swiftness of currents as fresh and poignant as the ebb. Time has been responsible for expanding creative focus and developing concentration, my quickening breath smothering the distant horizon in a foggy haze before its glass feels too vast, its fathoms too deep.

I’m rubbing the reflection with a clenched fist, gently at first, the solid edge of my palm parting the waves, my fate line cutting a sleek path into the dense kelp forest.

And slowly it appears, blurry at first, excess spray sinking into the dunes, the clearing confident and sharply carved. There it is, a new chart, stamped professionally and creatively. There’s a wildness about it, all unkempt and tussocked, but extraordinarily beautiful.

Both my little grandsons are now two years old. They talk to me, in their fabulously constructed half sentences that deliver their messages perfectly. They also talk to one another, no longer in tongues but in words that lead to direct action. We’ll do this, this way, and we’ll do it now. Their reflection is in all of us, if we choose to see it.