Watching the Sea Go
By Dana Levin
Thirty seconds of yellow lichen.
Thirty seconds of coil and surge,
fern and froth, thirty seconds
of salt, rock, fog, spray.
moving slowly to the left―
A door in a rock through which you could see
laved by the weedy tide.
Like filming breathing―thirty seconds
of tidal drag, fingering
the smaller stones
down the black beach―what color
was that, aquamarine?
their salmon-colored hands.
I stood and I shot them.
I stood and I watched them
right after I shot them: thirty seconds of smashed sea
while the real sea
thrashed and heaved―
They were the most boring movies ever made.
to mount them together and press play.
Thirty seconds of waves colliding.
with its open attitudes, seals
riding the swells, curved in a row
just under the water―
over and over.
Before it’s over.
Lots of small, stupid things on Monday did not go as planned, not enough to get cranky about since they're all minor or fixable -- both lunch and dinner plans postponed to different dates, friend sick, laundry washed but not folded because of a problem with a dress that had to be rewashed by hand, pictures not quite fitting in frames, things like that -- but enough to make me think I should turn in early.
High points of day included two bunnies on my walk and a cat who woke me by breathing tuna breath in my face. We watched The Soloist, in which RDJ gives a good performance and Jamie Foxx gives an exceptional performance (the screenplay's a bit uneven but I appreciated the directing, since so many movies about mental illness end up feeling over-the-top trying to portray it). Seattle's Discovery Beach: