Thirteen

We took an evening stroll down to the waters edge, collecting a discarded vacuum pipe and brush along the way. I am soothed by the young one’s unwavering joy in others rubbish. We happily pass the time. I watch little boats out on the horizon. They are tiny speckles on the blue. The clouds sweep slowly along above us. The sun shines low over the stones warming us in the early evening glow. Small waves lap gently up to our feet.

Along the tide line the vacuum is utilised to remove and examine the thick dark seaweed that has been trailed in a long thick border to the sea. I watch him play and wonder how it came to be there. It stretches the length of the beach in both directions, as far as we can see, like a scum line on the bath.

It occurs to me that the sea is clearing out, pushing off something unwanted. I picture it belching, burping and gurgling. Bringing up bits from far bellow and retching them out onto the beach. I stand still, my imaginings taking me beyond the shoreline, the stink of the seaweed becoming the deep unknown.

Suddenly a little voice shouts in excitement. The examinations have turned up something worthy. He pulls a bright green fleck from amongst the dark tendrils.

‘Look Mummy! Sea Lettuce!’

The sea swells with a deep unconsciousness. The water pulls us, to and fro, with each tide. It has the ability to both ease and unsettle me.