When I was small I used to brave the rolling waves; allowing them to crash over me, tumbling through and over and under, before being deposited in a jumble of limbs and wild mermaid hair onto the shingle. Eyes salt stung, breathless and cold-trembling, it was my personal battle with the surf; yet the feeling of being amidst the crests and foam was exhilarating. Finally, teeth chattering, blue lipped and exhausted, I would reluctantly admit defeat; creeping back to shore to lie in the hollows between stones so the sun could warm my shivering bones.
Lately I have once again been tumbled over stones, under the weight of heavy water; exhilaration replaced by the overwhelming fear of an uncertain future. But today a small gesture has spun a lifeline to reel me back to solid ground once more.