Thinking saltmarshes

<p>Hiking towards the saltmarsh at dusk, I pause, confused, as the footpath seems to disappear into a long stretch of shallow muddy water, shining as it reflects the light of the setting sun. Then I notice a line of stepping stones, visible only because their rough texture just ruffles the bright smooth surface of the water. And I set my pace to the rhythm of the stones, and walk on across the marsh to the sand dunes beyond.</p><p>Reading the watery marshland is a conversation with the past, with people I know nothing about, except that they laid the stones that shape my stride, and probably shared my dislike of wet feet.</p>