As her dog pulled her along the beach that most gorgeous of gorgeous mornings, she considered the spell of the coast. Space. Perspective. Fresh. Quiet. Alone. Sea. Sky. Birds. Haha: she was starting to sound like one of her first school poems. But as she considered to herself maybe that was it. Simple wasn't enough? We made things complicated. Complex. Layer upon layer. Questioning. Looking for ‘the answer’. Not realising, here it was: in the palm of a hand, in the crash of a wave, in the dive of a gull, in the hand-written card he'd sent.
"Every man at some point in his life is going to lose a battle. He is going to fight and he is going to lose. But what makes a man is at the midst of that battle he does not lose himself. This game is not over, this battle is not over."