In dazzling sunshine I step off the grassy bank and onto the beach, ending sock-deep in something black and congealed. It’s the rotten remains of a boat. There are remains of a prow still jutting out of the bank and scattered over the beach are ships’ nails, released from the rotting wood.
Sometimes the tiniest events have the greatest life-changing consequences and yet we can never know them at the time we experience them. For Want of a Nail, the Ship Was Lost