Serial Library passage June 21

21 Jun

I was a big part of the reason people were finding it hard to find things on the beach. People were finding me on the beach. We were gathered together, all of us, on the beach and a small, fresh wave washed in, fresh as snow on the polar ice cap. We could smell the wave, the white cap of the wave, and it was the smell of cold, and the smell of icy vodka, and it was the smell of wanting that brought us here to this place, to this beach, on this day in the history of all days. The people found me standing alone not moving, like a tree doesn’t move, swaying a little maybe as the wind took the molecules from the surface of my skin and spattered them onto the wall of the kingdom of God. But I was rooted, for all intents and purposes, to the sand, and the sand felt happy and good on my bare feet, warm. I felt warm and happy as a clam and the waves crept toward my bare feet and pushed their foamy souls toward my face, my face shining, the white foam bubbling gently in the sun on the sand, like crabs crawling out of the sand and leaving their bubbles in the sand, and then later in the moonlight, after the sun had painted my face and the wind had taken my hair out for a test drive, and now the third wave had arrived and the wind was gone and the dark sat about me like a blanket of windy moonlight.

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