Fin in a Waste of Waters

"These moments of escape are not to be despised. They come too seldom....Leaning over this parapet I see far out a waste of water. A fin turns....I note under 'F.,' therefore, 'Fin in a waste of waters.' I, who am perpetually making notes in the margin of my mind for some final statement, make this mark, waiting for some winter's evening." (from Woolf's THE WAVES)

11 November 2006

Morning view from my kitchen window

Nights, Brighton pier - glittering and glamorous, carnival rides flying wild, lights and people blaring -

The morning after - a shapeless shadow:

dark hulk of trash heavy on the sun-glazed blazing gray waves
a careless heap of sticks, the pier; empty eaten-out paper take-away cartons, its amusements.

Only a pair of white lights glare from its center, venomous, unblinking, set to scurry dirtily away.

A colorful quartet of sun-lit sailboats glide in a line to the hoizon behind -

06 November 2006

Sunset on the sea

Today, walking east down Kings Road on my way home from Taj (one of my new favorite grocery stores; they've got my miso paste for miso soup), I saw something beautiful: two women, pulled over to the side of the road, outside of their car, facing west. I noticed only the driver first: her sunglasses pushed up onto curly hair; her long, straight nose. And she raised her arm - her jacket slipped down her arm, and her wrist and hand and fingers were long and straight as well - a beautiful gesture, like the beginning of a dance, and then a pause.

I stopped walking and turned to the west as well. And there, the sun was setting over the sea - flames of pink spiraling out from the sun; a flock of birds, massing, rotating, black pepper over the sun; and the ships, smoke-blue ghosts on the horizon.