Sand on my toes
Just back from a walk on my beach. An ownership conferred by presence, rather than a court of laws. An ownership every bit as real (and ephemeral). A title that was passed to me by the group from last week, and that I will pass to those who come after, without any need to meet or seal a covenant.
The Law of Fractals is proven at the edge of the sea. Forms that vary every second, never to be repeated (exactly). Musical. A symphony of curves. My feet serve to detect variations in temperature, even if the scale is subjective. As my route crosses a stream that has formed on the bank and meandered across the sand, the coolness of fresh water erases the memory of the warmer sea. Maybe I’m detecting salinity, but that doesn’t make much sense; my tongue does a better job.
So many colours. Or are those shades, hues, variations? Sand that changes from black to red to brown and more, with every pass of the water brush. Plants brought to the surface by the last few days of wind.
Once upon a time, I knew the names of those plants. I learned them by the side of a scientist, for whom the identification of a species was part of the search for fame: find a new sort, name it and prosper. Fucus, Chondrus, Laminaria. I was the undercover artsie in a world of biogeeks, that summer. Vocabulary served as my disguise.
The beach is mine. I’m sharing my space with Bill the Spaniel and his mistress (servant). A few birds, mingling interspecies. There a gull, here a sandpiper, nearby one of those nameless ones (I didn’t learn everything that summer). Up to my ankles, as deep as I want to go. Who knows what danger lurks below?
