Wrote this in Albania, on a particularly murderous morning.

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The rocks spoke to me. In a language I did not understand, in a land that was not my home, rocks and sea told me secrets. My mind went to dark places. It was as if their secrets were instructions and orders I could interpret. Kill, they said, giving me freedom to do so.

It was not rational to think it true, the sea has no need for murder. Only my twisted mind.

I took off my clothes and dived in, a fresh mind would help me see the magic of rocks talking to me on a beautiful morning.

As I emerged for breath a large wave in a previously perfectly calm sea slammed me into the rocks. And the next time they spoke I understood clearly as they said, Thank you.