And afterwards

Afterwards it's much better, possibly; at any rate there's been a change. Often as a child I dreamt of the sea: a welcoming, uniform expanse painted a deep blue; the freedom to run right to the horizon. It was also vertical and flat. It opened in the middle like a double door. Now we can dip our feet in it, look at the bottom, catch shrimps in the holes as well as other creatures of the same sort that leave a funny smell on one's fingers, a familiar smell. Perhaps we have aged a bit. To go on the sea, where the horizon always recedes, we now have to take the little boat moored at the jetty, at the entrance to which that old bicycle is still standing.