The Ninth Wave

In the following days after we’d returned home and mum was spending her time sitting with him, she remarked on another, much earlier, Kate Bush song – Breathing. The chorus is a series of cries of “out, in, out, in.” That was the rhythm of his room in those last few days, his breath the background sound. Finally that out, in, out, in slowly faded to silence on Friday. He died on a day where a sky of honey stretched above the hills. In one of those weeks full of seeming coincidences and moments of concordance, the Sunday began with the sea (in these photos) and the following Friday ended with sky. We'd chosen the watery location as a deliberate...