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One year from starting this blog and I have been nudged into remembering events which led to it. Three years ago I was diving in Spanish waters, swimming with eagle rays and spotting seahorses. Three years ago I found a seahorse in an area not previously known for seahorses. It was named Louise:

At that point I was fitter than I had been in years, healthier too after a long period of post viral fatigue. Emerging once more from a long period of illness these memories make me smile. They make me more than smile, they make me look forward to life and excited about what else might be possible.

This blog began from that diving trip – attempts made to draw under water on a slate while trying to keep balance and buoyancy. Scratchy sketches of things I’m not sure even I can identify all that clearly anymore.

Whatever they are, they are a trace of those dives, hanging around at the end of a transect line counting urchins and bryozoa. They were impetus to beginning to write and think about how I can connect these wonders beneath the waves to something on land. Helen Scales does this beautifully with writing, in her book Eye of the Shoal it feels like the closest I can get to diving while standing on the shore (or lying on my sofa when I’m not able to walk so far). It was a joy to meet Helen and speak with her last week for Wealden Literary Festival (a celebration of place and nature writing) and it – like the Facebook memories – reminds me of who I am when there is sometimes doubt, and of how much I miss it.

I have wondered around all over the place here, I am not sure I have moved this blog or this work forwards, but it has served as a reminder of the importance of water for me, how strongly connected to the sea I am and I continue to wonder how this can relate to my work. I write, and have written about diving and marine life encounters. I take photographs and have been involved in coastal surveys recording intertidal inhabitants. I walk and write about coastal walks. Perhaps my practice is shifting. Perhaps I just need to be near the sea. As my body is shifting, my connection to water remains. Perhaps I just need to be patient, a little longer.