July 5, 2011
. . low tide now – the gulls wait for the turn – and even a few new babies are here learning stuff they need to know from the older birds . . .
. . unwittingly, I disturb this group. Pure wet sand with tiny feathery bird footprints . . .
. . and glistening formations of mussels. It’s fun to watch the gulls drop them from on high and then swoop down to pick out the flesh from the shattered shell.
Starfish are fought over – and can be swallowed whole! Quite a bit of activity but a general sense of calmness – it’s a beautiful morning – and lucky are we who can enjoy the shore before the work of the day!
The long body of the water fills its hollow,
Slowly rolls upon its side,
And in the swaddlings of the waves,
Their shadowed hollows falling forward with the tide,
Like folds of Grecian garments molded to cling
Around some classic immemorial marble thing,
I see the vanished bodies of friends who have died.
Each form is furled into its hollow,
White in the dark curl,
The sea a mausoleum, with countless shelves,
Cradling the prone effigies of our unearthly selves,
Some of the hollows empty, long niches in the tide.
One of them is mine
And gliding forward, gaping wide. May Swenson Staring at the Sea on the Day of the Death of Another
In memory of two fine actresses, Margaret Tyzack and Anna Massey, who have departed over the last few days. Standing ovation for many fine performances.