Islands
Obstinate Giants
I am an island I stand on the ocean floor obstinate, windswept
They are giants, out there in the Pacific though close to shore. I see them every morning during my walks, some days more of them than other days, depending on the state of the tide (which covers the smaller ones altogether when high).
And they make me think about islands. Islands that are like icebergs only a thousand times more so; with icebergs you only see the top 10%, with islands you only see the top 0.001% at best (depending, of course, on the depth of the ocean at that particular place).
Some islands don’t look like much: little dots of land in a sea of, yes, sea. Still, they stand on a foundation quite as deep and as solid as most of our continents, don’t they? So, don’t underestimate the foothold of islands, they’re both sure- and deep-footed.
The row of rocky peaks that pierce the surface closer to Point Saint George (especially at high tide) strikes you as the spiked spine of a sleeping dragon (a gills-equipped, apparently, for no head is visible).
At low tide the spinal illusion washes away and you can instead imagine a colossal and steeply-peaked mountain range viewed by tiny fish that can only dream of scaling (pun intended) these highs once reborn as something lungy. Until then they’ll have to be satisfied with the view of colossal feet, standing firmly on this vast, undulating continent called the ocean floor.
I walk my ocean-shore walk pretty much every day, regardless of weather, sometimes even in the stormiest of conditions (attired in a parka I think of as my PVC tent). Looking at these peaked monsters through the driving rain it strikes you how unaffected, how incredibly could-not-care-less-even-if-I-tried-for-a-thousand-years they appear: “Is that the best you can do?” to the wind. “Child’s play. C’mon, show me some muscle.”
The wind and the rain as if listening and rising to the challenge swirls up a breathtaking gust that nearly knocks me over but moves the giants not a millimeter, or a thousandth of one.
Off to my left, and farther out to see stand a few stand-offish rocks, barely deigning to occupy the same sea as the rabble closer to shore. Stormier out there too, not weak-hearted these spikey pillars, proud.
Ours is not a very well-known shoreline, not compared to, say, Big Sur. But I’ve seen the barren and, to be honest, uninteresting shore of that famous destination and by comparison my home-stretch of Pacific shore is much the finer for the juxtaposition. I am pleased to call this part of the giant ocean my backyard.
So I muse.
Meanwhile I’m doing my best (only half-successfully) to stay dry.
Did I leave the floorboard heaters on in my cabin? I wonder. Deciding that I did, I look forward to entering a warm and dry front room as soon as I have battled my way back.
© Wolfstuff