When it wasn't.

I live on the shores of an ancient sea. At night, I listen to the ghostly roar of the waves, at day, at day I walk across the fossilised litter of oyster, ammonoid and coral.

The skeletal wrecks of galleon and frigate lie hidden amongst the tangle of branch and briar on the forest floor.

Something like that anyway.

Whichever way you look at it, it’s wet.