Swimming at False Point

They tell me the cove behind False Point is no good for swimming, but I have dived into the surf there, and my body swept through the richest of sea water. An unaccountable fluid there, in waves rolling in, and in thin silver sheets hissing up through the gravel beach; more like broth than water, strongly flavored and well mingled with golden broken kelp leaves. There is no sand on the shore, it is a crescent mound of rounded stones the size of a dollar. But from the soft dirt cliffs, the stones of the cove, wet with high tide spray, gleam and sparkle like piles of jewels.