Everything in the trench is read by contact rather than sight. Pressure, texture, the slow change of a surface under the hand. Colour is meaningless at that depth and so is the idea of looking at something, so what replaced both is mass, patience, and a way of moving that you register through the water rather than through your eyes.

It comes up. Every account begins somewhere different and ends in the same place, with the stillness, and the realisation that whatever has been underneath you has made a decision.