The tide, politely

The tide came in through the front door that year, politely, the way a neighbour does. It wiped its feet on the mat that my grandmother had woven out of marram grass, it stood a while in the hall as though waiting to be asked, and then it went back out again and took the mat with it.

My mother had warned me about the house before she gave me the key. She said it the way people say things they have decided not to explain: the sea wants it back, and one day it will have it, and until then you are only keeping it dry.