I once heard surfing described as riding the horizon and, as platitudinous as that sounds, I believe that it’s true; surfers occupy an unfamiliar threshold between body and nature — above and beneath. Allow me to offer this example from my own life to clarify the nature of those distinctions and their overlap: when I was ten years old, on a road trip through Northern California with my family, I looked over a cliff on a grey morning and saw tens of upright bodies floating motionless in the far, horizon-less distance. For a long, quiet moment, it seemed to me that they were walking on water.