i do my restaurant depot shopping for the store on sundays in the early afternoon. i bring maxx with me because i know i won’t be more than fifteen minutes or so and then we can walk along the railroad tracks that run along the waterway where the warehouse is.
i do this so maxx can have his woody guthrie experience.
i wish to be part of the illusion myself, so we walk on train-ties, in between the tracks that run east to west, heading to the eastern most point of long island. these train lines mattered greatly between the two great wars of the last century.
i could romance the notion of jumping a freight train heading west.
after shopping and walking the tracks for a bit, i came back to the store, unloaded the carload of shopping and allatonce decided that the beach just might be incredible today because of the storm.
i jumped into the car after feeding buddy and off we went.
when i got to the beach, i could hear the ferocity of the water without even seeing it and when i got to the shore, i saw a green-brown roaring, foaming, churning clusterfuck reminding me and a few other onlookers how insignificant humanity is on this sphere.
i headed east, away from the small group at the first bay.
i was so overwhelmed by the visual that, as i walked, i forgot where i was and suddenly, in sort-of slow-motion, found myself falling down into a gaggle of rocks, sand and wood.
i not only felt out of control, i felt feeble and helpless and spindly and old.
i cried out what may have been a part of a word that started with the letter “a” – i don’t really remember.
i lay in a heap and momentarily collected myself.
for a second, the commercial flashed, “i’ve fallen and i can’t get up…”
my hands bled from negotiating the elements they fell in contact with. i succeeded in not smashing my head on anything…”ok, that’s a plus..,” i thought.
my thumb bled at the nail, but i wiggled it and it seemed ok.
maxx stood over me and immediately began to lick my hands.
i scrambled up inventorying my joints and limbs as i rose.
“i think i’m ok,” i muttered, half to myself, the balance to maxx.
i looked behind me.
the other ocean watchers continued to look seaward.
seeing how the last high tide had gobbled up the shoreline and part of the dunes in front of me, i felt a sense of anticipation that the big tire would reappear on the beach for the first time in months.
as i walked on the shore with maxx, i’ve drawn some conclusions about a storm;
1 – the shells on the shore – there are no small, fine bits of shells. they are whole or nearly whole.
2 – the seaglass – like the seashells, pieces of glass on the beach are large and new. there are no pieces that are ocean or sand-worn.
there’s probably some equation for this.
there might be someone who can explain this.
there are experts about everything, everywhere.
humanity needs statistics and equations to couch a sense of knowledge or familiarity about this and every other sort of thing.
i would love to know why, too.
then i might remark about how hungry i am or say something unrelated to this like, “hey – there’s that big tire!” because it was – there, i mean.
the ocean was so fierce it dug up the beach and carried it about fifty yards east from the last place i saw it.
maxx was immediately back at home with it.
there’s a whole bunch of new pics in the album named “earth reclamation project” on the photobucket account here (if you look left).