The night was clogged with heat. I felt grit-skinned and heavy. But as I went into the kitchen to wash dishes, the quiet darkness of the room eased me. I could see stars, wind, the barest paring of a moon, through the window.
Strange how stars above a sea seem wilder than overland stars, as if they sing an older song of lost bones and gold and dreams - things that will never again be seen.
I could not bear to turn on the light, the ordinary. And so I found a small beeswax candle sitting in the coracle of a cream-coloured shell, and I set it beside my kitchen sink. And I washed the dishes by candlelight while the stars sang the hauntings of the waters to me.
The new header picture was drawn by my daughter as part of a special project we are slowly working on together. But I could not let it go on sitting between tissue papers on my desk; I am too preciptious, and too much in love with the picture.