The day was drizzly and my feet were wet. Wet and tired and covered in sandy dough. We were trapped against the sea and the cliffs. Small streams with dreams of large oxbows played hopscoth with us. Stone grew to pebbles and swam back from the sea clean and smooth.
We pick them up. Tumble and look for the color and the shape. That one has a nose like my dad! Look at the red and the white marbley strips of sea stones.
Caves don’t offer the protection from the wind and the snack was small. And cold. But the ship out on the water. The little fisher ship out there. It bobs and moves and bobs some more. Against the greyed-out sky I would swear I never knew what a shadow looked like. But I do. And as the sun, never seen, creeped lower we returned to our point in.
The whale was still dead and still decomposing. Carcass split open by weather or sea water or maybe just time. It fell out of the water and came here for its last breathe. It felt its anguish and pain right here. It was over right here.
We climbed the knotted rope hand over hand over hand over hand. Crumble of beach rotten cliff sliding in and out of sandals, eyes and time. We pack out belongings. The truck is dusty with the forest.
We climbed in quietly, and I believed we were stronger than the tides.
Comment (1)
hmm. this one makes me feel scattered. Im not sure if this dusty forest-beach day was a good one or a bad one. did the whale freak you out? I love the sandy dough at your feet and the pebble stone that looks like your dads nose.
ryan