Sometimes you arrive at a place and wonder if this is where you came from. Looking out to sea I imagine I can hear my own story fall towards me on the waves. Perhaps everyone who comes to this place can hear their own story? Some kind of folk memory in the atmosphere that draws us to the sea, the forgotten salt on our skin.
Poetic words by kind permission of Jeff Young. 
Created for the Notts Book Arts Swap. 

Edition of ten.
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