WIP

Two thin wooden shells, bob across the incoming tide, propelled by spindly sticks.  Their occupants, only see where they have come from, looking back into dim and distant traditions of light versus dark, their vision gradually narrowing as exertion leads to exhaustion, until all thoughts fade but an objective is achieved. The onlookers applaud, but cannot participate, except by drowning their own thoughts in other pint  sof beer.