in the past week
i took a boat out to see whales. three humpbacks breached to eye us with strange affection, and fin whales rolled in the brine long as sea serpents. it's surreal to think that this churning life is happening just past your scope of vision on the shore. these are real whales, and they come out to feed every day, and they know things. secrets.
i saw fleetwood mac and cried a little during 'sara' and was amazed that i could be buoyed along by music to the extent that i was able to handle a stadium show. it rained on us as we left and i had to lift up my long black dress to and scurry to the car.
the sea took a friend of my parents. we spoke to her in the morning, and that evening she was pulled under
i read once that the ocean keeps count.
it is made up like our blood, or more accurately, our blood mimics it, and like gets thirsty for like.
maybe whales are psychopomps. i believe in whales.