Footfall on stone beach, coarse crunch of my weight softened by slippery slurp of green algae, caw of seagulls, rhythmic “Shhhhhh” of waves bubbling in,
rocks, shells and tree debris tippling, rolling against each other as tide recedes, rough, unpredictable bark of dogs, stern reproach of parents whose children put things in their mouth or hands, or use feet to upend a sleeping colony, high-pitched siren sound of adults warning children not to touch transparent jellyfish, not to taunt sandpipers, hard click of thrown stones hitting other stones or plunk as they enter the water, a young child’s wail lifted by strong wind arrives a ways down the beach where it rattles the nerves of the one who came for a bit of peaceful respite, whose cochlea perceive the disembodied whine, wonders what sea creature makes a sound like that, looks all the way to the horizon, scanning for overturned vessel, arms flailing in the water, the improbable whale fin or mermaid tail, any shape at all arising over the waves. Ruffled and unsettled, she’ll shake her head, calibrate her breathing to the cacophony of wind, wave, and the rumbling soggy crush of her footsteps as she makes her way back to muffled murmur of voices, car doors opening and closing, alarms beeping, tires chomping the pebbled parking lot before sighing in near silence on the two-lane highway headed inland.