I found a rubbery strip of seaweed and bound it, like a leather belt, around the middle of a fist-sized grey-white rock. The rock I balanced upon a stack of slate and grey-white rocks, poised and striking on this flat promenade. A beach, a catwalk for walkers; the strip of sand runs between lake (Loe Bar) and sea on this grey, damp morning. I think briefly about whether or not the lake is salt water before I imagine tasting it and remember that I am parched and that my head is heavy and my feet far away and I must press on.
-Mat later told me he had tasted the water, as we crossed the sand pathway, and that it was fresh, not salty.