Boots full of water, we’re bobbing for rocks as the world swims around us. Twigs, branches, whole trees surge by, spun by forces too huge to contemplate, but still we plunge our hands into the icy current, in search of perfect stones. My mother, father, and sister are all here, strong as mountains, shining with a faith that, although I can’t share it, bolsters my resolve through pure example. Garden furniture, cars, and even small buildings sweep past, bearing people and animals, all singing songs of the sea and faraway shores. They wave, and we wave back, before dipping once more, then again and again, into the muddy ooze, in search of those elusive nuggets and boulders. They don’t have to be valuable, for these things have no meaning anymore. And they don’t have to be beautiful, for that is in the eye of the beholder, and all eyes are on a world turned to water and a sky holding nothing but storm. They only need to anchor us to this precarious spot, close enough to each other to touch our wrinkled fingertips: close enough to say goodbye.