“It was a piercing February afternoon and the crackling firewood, while offering good heat, struggled to penetrate my icy wetsuit. Still shivering, on my haunches, hunched over the fire, I tried thawing my gloved hands. The surf was around head high, and bone-numbingly cold. This stretch of the North Welsh coastline is home to fickle and sparse Atlantic surf. My attention drifted, the fire spoke to me, hissing and spitting, tiny splinters shot skyward like mini fireworks, darker swirls of smoke dancing around like spectres. The spot is known for three huge boulders that hide their danger when submerged, like gigantic seal heads, bobbing up and down on the tide. The rhythmic sound of waves punctured the air’s silent frigidity, the flames becoming bolder, snaking upward, the heat working its way through finally. In front of me, ocean and sky merged into a seamless wash of blue, wrapping my mind in a dreamlike calm, a blanket of hopeful dreams stifled by the unknowing of what exactly they were, hypnotised, I gazed into the glowing embers, praying for answers to the question I hadn't yet befriended, “what is this lifetimes’ mission here on this planet?”

An excerpt from Tom's forthcoming book, 'The Terroir of Being.'