What interests me in the tides is not so much the marks they leave than their movement due to the wind, the sand or the stone composition of the shore or the weather conditions. It is what appears and stays for a moment.
The tides are like strata of moment of life; up and downs, calm or violent but inevitable. You cannot stop them. The water will go up at a certain time and down at an other. The schedule is unchanging, just the hours. It is like the passing of time.
Ephemera moving lines from a far distance are dying down the shore; the lines left on the sand are then covered up again. Those irregular lines will be visible again, even if altered, with the next retreating tide, like memories which may change as time passes by.
The up and down of the tides make me think of Penelope weaving and unweaving, waiting, looking at the passing of time. The pull and push of the tide is like the needle in a piece of cloth.