Driftwood and coloured glass nursed by seaweed lie tangled in a high-summer tideline. Claiming a spot on the sand, the first of the morning tourists will take home to a life indoors: pieces of glass, the smallest and prettiest of the driftwood, and some seaweed to hang outside to predict the weather. At night, youths with alcohol make a fire of the big driftwood that escaped incarceration, and the last of a great forest ends its life as pyre-sparks released into an endless dome of black sky. Indoors, left in a box, this is what the coloured glass dreams.
