The sea, hoarder of things once lost, cradled in its embrace. The storm does not ask. From the depths it steals, reveals. Fleetingly. Treasure transformed. Waiting, it lies, but for who? Joyfully found, or reclaimed, back to the depths. Whose hand will reach first?

After the Storm.

What the sea transformed, the storm revealed. Four colours swirling gently through a single skein, each settling in its own place. The same storm, different shores.