7.7.00

The white fur of the ocean's surface resting against a rugged shore, which was green and grey, only. (But this world is only blue.) In black the universe spares nothing and we lie in a cup of rock waiting for the malevolent ocean to eat some tired children, which we were; and we were afraid in the roar of tidal taunting and pretended to admire the depths of this universe while we waited for the tide to slither back to its own depths. Our mound of sand was just that high to escape. A moment at the toe of cannonball island and I was the westernmost person in the lower, contiguous, 48. I built a cairn for acknowledgement and meditated for quite a long time on a warm flat rock. Other times the sand, grey and slightly brown, stretched tabular in each way and I sat at it eating delicious literature.

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