Undersea Day

The sea slips to night without anyone noticing, but it looked grey and sluggish all day anyway, like it was still mired in sleep. An industrial tide, flowing from subterranean factories, and if this water had dreams they would be slow and feverish nightmares.
I thought about walking up London Road to the distant charity shop this lunchtime, but as I stepped out into the mid-afternoon air, the wet, cold air dissuaded me. I thought of London Road, and I thought of it underwater too, and people moving through the submerged shops, waiting for waterlogged buses with drowned and drawn eyes.
I thought of the following, walking home through the post 7:00pm darkness:
The wood you see in the distance will not be the same wood you arrive at. This is obvious. The wood that you imagine however does in no way denigrate the existence of that original imagined wood. Where then, is the otiginal wood as you walk through the trees of the real wood that must always ever be inevitably disappointing?