Monday (Seaweed)
The line whirred out over the rocks and punched a hole in the water about 20 feet from the pier. The guy at the other end of the line looked to be in his late 50s or early 60s, black, and tired. The fishermen up and down the pier had been hauling it in today all right. Hauling in seaweed. Every cast turned out the same way: the line went taut, the owner of the line went over and started reeling it in, and at some point in the process he knew that it “was more goddamn seaweed”. One of the frustrated many at least had his sense of humor intact. As he untangled the plants from his line he exclaimed “I caught a salad! You want a salad?”
The day was warm, the wind not too unpleasant and the water crashed and gurgled into the rocks under the pier just enough to remind you that when the sea got really angry it could remove you from the planet out without thinking twice. The sun was present but not blinding. It was just bright enough to frame the scene unobtrusively.
The fishermen (and they were all men) kept harvesting the seaweed, muttering and cursing. I didn’t see any of them leave although the older black guy said “I ain’t got time for all this seaweed!” to a fellow sufferer. Still, he didn’t move. Everyone was failing, but nobody seemed too unhappy.
A large flock of geese appeared in the Northeast sky. They were headed south. A monarch butterfly bobbed past heading the same way although in a much less purposeful fashion. Another fisherman hauled another load of seaweed onto the concrete where it landed like a wet mop. Further up the shore people were eating lunches at picnic tables.
Lives were being lived. It was a good day.
The day was warm, the wind not too unpleasant and the water crashed and gurgled into the rocks under the pier just enough to remind you that when the sea got really angry it could remove you from the planet out without thinking twice. The sun was present but not blinding. It was just bright enough to frame the scene unobtrusively.
The fishermen (and they were all men) kept harvesting the seaweed, muttering and cursing. I didn’t see any of them leave although the older black guy said “I ain’t got time for all this seaweed!” to a fellow sufferer. Still, he didn’t move. Everyone was failing, but nobody seemed too unhappy.
A large flock of geese appeared in the Northeast sky. They were headed south. A monarch butterfly bobbed past heading the same way although in a much less purposeful fashion. Another fisherman hauled another load of seaweed onto the concrete where it landed like a wet mop. Further up the shore people were eating lunches at picnic tables.
Lives were being lived. It was a good day.
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