BOUNDLESSThe leash

Journal, No. 01

Your hands were never free.

Twenty minutes was the plan. You came home after dark, and neither of you had wanted to turn around.

Warm sandstone in morning light, the lead worn across her body, Daisy beside her
Nothing has been let go of.

You know the walk. It starts because she is standing at the door, and you go because it is easier than explaining to a dog that you are busy.

Ten minutes in, something changes. The air does something to you. She finds a smell worth her whole attention. You stop checking how long this is taking.

Then the walk stops being a walk. It becomes coffee, and the coffee becomes a bench, and the bench becomes the long way round because the light is doing something on the water. Nobody decided any of this.

And for every hour of it, one hand was already spoken for.

So we made one you wear.

Worn crossbody, or at the waist. The brass closes at your hip and stays closed. Nothing swings, nothing needs putting down to pay for anything, and she is exactly where she always was.

Open coastal daylight, the lead worn across the body, Daisy ahead
The lead worn at the waist, Daisy walking level with her hip

Fifty, then it stops.

Everything is cut, stitched and finished by hand, so Edition 01 is 50 pieces. Each one is engraved on the brass, 01 through 50, in the order they are taken. Yours belongs to you and to nobody else.

There will be another edition. It will be a different design.

Vegetable-tanned bridle leather and ivory saddle stitching, close
Natural bridle leather. It darkens where you wear it.

Held by nothing. Defined by no one.

Take your number

Edition 01, three long days

Three long days.

A sand track through dry coastal scrub toward open ocean, Daisy at her hip

01

The long way home

The walk was twenty minutes. It has been four hours. Nobody has asked to turn back.

A sand track, a dog who knows the way, and no reason to be anywhere.

Ankle deep in clear shallow water, ecru linen darkened at the hem, Daisy beside her

02

Salt, and nothing else

Wet hem, dry hair by the car, sand in everything for a week.

Summer keeps no record. What you remember is the water at your ankles and both hands free enough to feel it.

Feet in a tidal rock pool on a sandstone shelf, Daisy lying on the warm stone beside her

03

Nowhere to be

The rock is warm. The pool is still. This is the whole plan.

Stillness comes back the moment you are not holding anything.

Out there.

@boundlessco
The shoreline at low tide in a bone linen slip, hands empty, the cognac lead worn crossbody to a fawn French bulldog.
Low tide. Hands empty.
Daisy sits on a weathered timber beach bench beside a cream single fin surfboard with the cognac leash and brass hook looped over the rail.
Board up. She waited.
A woman stands on a dry grass headland in an ochre silk slip, the cognac leash crossbody to a cream long haired dachshund in the grass.
Headland, wind up.
A woman stands at the edge of an ocean rock pool on bleached sandstone, hands empty, the cognac leash clipped at her hip ring to a wet golden retriever.
Rock pool. Straight out of it.
A woman leans in a limewashed doorway in an ochre knit and bone trousers with an Italian greyhound clipped to the brass ring at her hip.
On the way somewhere.
A woman walks a sandy eucalyptus track in an olive linen dress with a tricolour border collie clipped to the leash at her hip.
Eucalypt track, mid morning.
A woman stands at the open tailgate of a sand coloured wagon at a beach car park with Daisy clipped to the leash at her hip.
Boot open, salt everywhere.
A woman stands on a clifftop beside a rolled mat with a corgi clipped to the cognac leash at her hip.
Mat rolled. He waited.
A woman walks down pale stone stairs in a bone broderie dress with an Italian greyhound stepping beside her on the cognac leash.
Down the stairs, unhurried.
A woman crosses a dune carrying a cream single fin surfboard with Daisy clipped to the cognac leash at her hip.
Board under one arm.