Her mind was a cluttered drawer, but it led her to the ocean around midnight on October 5th. With cane in hand she slowly shuffled her way toward the water, her cane stabbing periods every couple of feet as she stopped to contemplate her world.
The surf was music and as it played chords to her mind, she drew a line in the sand in front of her with her cane. As she studied the ditch in front of her it became obvious that on her side of the canyon, sanity remained. She tried to get support and reinforcement from the melody now playing. The current sounds resembled water splashing in a washing machine set on a very slow speed.
It was difficult coming to grips with the ‘other side’. Everything was so muddled, so indistinct. Was it insanity over there? Complete disconnection? The music gave up its trickery and returned to sounds of waves.
The name ‘Matilda’ came to her. It might have been her name, but she couldn’t care less. There was a long, pensive pause, after which she looked down. The trench was gone! Her wet feet helped in the understanding that an energetic wave had erased the boundary.
Her stick imprinted another impression in the wet sand a couple of feet ahead. She followed. Looking down again she saw that there were no additional gullies to be seen. She gathered that it was her actions that created that original dividing line. She felt the hint of the desire to comprehend what else her actions had done and what they still could do, but the concept of extrapolation had all but vanished.
It wasn’t that security had filled her life, but Tilly now felt some relief from the silent panic in which she normally resided. It took resolve to get to the beach initially and that same force caused additional imprints to be made in the sand – and followed.
Was Tilly making her own decisions? Were there warning signals ahead, unexpected valleys, traps, disasters? She had no idea. Tomorrow may bring some light to be shed on that . . .