I can taste the sea; it’s like a scoop of salt dissolved in chilled toilet water. The seashore waft is fresh and fishy. Breathe deeply and you’ll find that here on the shore, your lungs expand more out of a lust for this, the rich sea air. The wind blows heavily, like the ghost of a giant’s arm trying to sweep you away. Your eyes will gleam brighter here. They sting some and tear as the lids scare away from your pupils, which seek more of such a sight. A stickiness collects on bare skin but is only noticeable when you run four fingers through the tangles of your hair. The sun shines brighter here. The searing white path it sweeps across the ocean is blinding. You might keep your eyes to your feet. To break a shell is akin to cursing your mother or burning a Van Gogh. Lift one gently from the sand and pocket it, but take care to control your greed. Feel the minerals rise between your toes at every step. Close your eyes and mistake the steady slosh of wave on shore for the beating of your own heart or whispered words from god.
Our World, Our Waters; An Appreciation
July 24, 2009