<< you know sometimes you lie >>

today i went walking down along the beach until a big rock outcropping blocked my way; then i climbed up and around and stood leaning on a tree watching tourists on the beach below on the other side.


you say you love me that you're
thinking of me but you
know you could be wrong


then i went down and sat on the beach in the sun and collected seashells. i was lying on my stomach in the sun and i saw this tiny little seashell the size of a grain of rice. and i picked it up and rolled it in my palm. my sacred geometry book informs me that seashells are a form of logarithmic spiral, and that the universe is a machine, like one of those water-powered calculators. this little shell was perfect, and so tiny. goodbye, little shell, i said, i am going to send you back to the randomness from whence you came. for you have your place in things and i have mine. and i made to crush it between my strong index finger and thumb. but of course i could not crush it. the math behind those spirals makes them very strong.

so i spent the rest of the afternoon collecting the tiniest seashells i could find. cat tracks, all four paws on one line, in the wet sand along the water's edge. walking back past a creek i saw these turtles warming themselves on rocks and when i got too close they all jumped into the water and were gone.

back at camp, some cheese and a nap, for nothing says cheese like a nap, and nothing says a nap like cheese.

and that has been my day.