On a white-washed wall in my mother’s living room, there is a memory, a photo of a quiet space of sea; a bay, created by a headland of dark green jungle. The waves ripple forever onto soft white sand. A cloudy sky overcasts the day, but sunlight has broken through. It tracks a shining path between the sea’s edge and the horizon.
Issue 13
FOUND FOOTING
£4
Sand Walker inherited her father’s writing desk. She writes because she is more herself when she does. It helps her know where she came from, where she’s now, and the beach she might walk along next.