I am not alone today, despite the new fence and screamingly-red signs blazoned with "Access Dangereux" in bold white letters, put up by the city in hopes of keeping people off the bluff. For the first time ever--being alone and properly shod and blessed with low tide--I climb down to the rocky beach.
I stroll amongst spikes of shell and scales of stone with thoughts of Egyptian pyramids dancing in my head.
I sit with my feet in the water and photograph ghosts of shrimp while live, blue-clawed ones snack on bits of my dead skin. Who needs to pay to have little black fish nibble at their feet? Can you spot the camouflaged crab in the bottom left photo? You can click the image to see it larger if you need a better view.
I can't get better shots of the shrimp because something keeps "biting" my posterior. I'm sitting on stone, and my attempts to swipe the biter from my skin yeilds no results. I stand up and scrutinize the spot where I was sitting. My careful attention finally reveals the culprit:
I first notice the tiny, starfish-like tentacles because they twitch every now and then, probably trying to lure in prey before the worm thing pops out to devour said prey with a very Dune-sandworm-like mouth. My photos do not do it justice, but the mouth has four "beaks." Thank goodness it is a small critter (probably not even a quarter of an inch in diameter, which is why I had a hard time getting a good pic). I'd hate to have been on the receiving end of its taste test had it been any larger.
And here is the swimming feather. Good job guessing what that macro was in my previous post, mindseas. The bubbling feather is lovely and merits a photo in any case, but I had to take a picture because it reminded me of what the Sprout said one day when we saw a sailboat at this same spot: "Voile oiseau!" Sail bird. The boats of the Myywen, a people who worship and honor birds in my Witherwilds trilogy, are now called "sailbirds" in her honor. And the name, of course, inspired all sorts of nifty images of their construction and the way they are rigged out.
And speaking of the Sprout, after she wakes, her papa brings her down the bluff to join me, so that we can swim together before picnicking and watching the sunset.
While we splash around, others hunt for crabs and contemplate the beauty of the fading day.
After a lovely supper, we watch the sun puddle into the sea and the moon rise to take its place.
Sourdough, surf, sand, swimming, sunsets...a very satisfying Sunday all around.