We wander Titlow Beach, turning over rocks, exposing crabs to the light of day, before returning them to their shadows and safety.
Gulls fly overhead, searching for armored beasts to snatch, to tear limb from limb, to deconstruct and scatter about the sand.
We clack our own claws, lifting them before our mouths, grasping at breaths of warm air and pulling them close, protesting the laughter of the birds that close in.
No comments:
Post a Comment