Can I write a little about frost and salt and how it all crunched under bare foot? The morning sun, near-freezing air and steaming water, cormorants perched on life-rings, half-familiar faces making short laps. And for hours afterwards thinking about what it is to not just walk and stand and stare, but to be a participant in the work of art.
I caused ripples in the water, breathed out warm air, huffed steam-train sound effects. Then got out and heard a shout only on the inside asking why I was jumping in again. The ladder a salvation from something I didn’t want to end. The end, it’s the start of the next part. It stays with you.
Tom Hall: travel, London, other things 