This past weekend, sitting on a low beach chair, my legs in the sand, my eyes closed under the protection of a straw hat, hearing the murmur of family conversation but listening to the incessant sound of surf, I was reminded that I am never so relaxed as on a warm breezy day at the beach. There is something about the overriding whoosh of the sea that enters into the rhythms of my body, slowing and calming them. I am in the midst of reading Moby Dick, and think that because of it I'm having a tendency to think in metaphors about the seaside; Melville uses a tremendous amount of metaphor and allegory, whether writing about whiteness, or a doubloon, or a whale that's free or "tagged". Do our bodies, which are more than half water, yearn for the sea?
Shells are moved and worn by the tides, left behind by a bubbly wave, pushed about by circumstance.
Once-living things are left piled along the strand, alongside a sea-weathered rock, which looks as though it was made of the sand it rests on, a compacted sandstone; it is a transformative process, like alchemy changing one material into another, just as the shells will break down over years and become part of the sand.
Another piece of rock tells a different tale, of small animals adhering to the rock and leaving their imprint.
The seagulls are a joy to watch as they waddle about on shore, or take to the air where they become soaring, graceful creatures. On the sand they are very amusing; last summer I spent an afternoon sitting quietly among them, noticing the differences of coloration of feather and beak, laughing at their attempts to grab a little something to eat.
There are always some plants that manage to thrive under what seem to be the most adverse conditions: in a bit of sand between rocks, doused by salt air and water. They are a lesson in perseverance.
The geometry of slat fencing plays off beautifully against the green and sandy dune it is protecting, but it is also a reminder of the wildness that came before.
And the marks of human carelessness are unfortunately always in evidence. Will we ever learn?
I see that your sister has left a few shell for the others.
ReplyDeleteI see that your sister has left a few shell for the others.
ReplyDeleteWhat a memory you have, Howlie, that you remember my sister is a shell collector. I'm afraid that mussel shells aren't at the top of her list, which is probably why there are so many of them.
DeleteI too spent the weekend at the beach, up near Lincolnville Maine. It was a perfect weekend to get lost in the senuousness of water, sand, sun, quiet.
ReplyDeleteI recently reread Moby Dick. I was riveted, loved it utterly. Every word. At 15 I was in no condition to understand why it is and continues to be the greatest American novel. Astounding. Eager to hear about your response.
I was older than 15 when I first read Moby Dick, slowmuse, but I certainly was not able to understand it in the way I am now. Reading it is an enveloping experience.
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