| Thirty seconds of yellow lichen. Thirty seconds of coil and surge, fern and froth, thirty seconds of salt, rock, fog, spray. Clouds moving slowly to the left― A door in a rock through which you could see ― another rock, 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? Starfish spread 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. I wanted to mount them together and press play. ― Thirty seconds of waves colliding. Kelp with its open attitudes, seals riding the swells, curved in a row just under the water― the sea, over and over. Before it’s over. Copyright © 2014 by Dana Levin. Used with permission of the author. |
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