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D. L. Emblen, sea, in English Clear filters

CheerfulD. L. Emblen

Gold Is Where You Find It

It's a poor man on the cliff who cannot harvest gold and silver dreams by nightfall. The joyous, many-cornered sounds of families walking home from long warm days along the beach, carrying inner-tubes and limp towels and remnants of Sunday papers, shiny with sunburn, smiling with the coolness of evening, speak of laughter loosely gathered from the lips of many idle waves, shells and bulbs of kelp, wave-worn sticks and thick green gems of bottles smoothed by countless tidal trips across the beach slope.
CheerfulD. L. Emblen

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.
ContemplativeD. L. Emblen

Scene

In the first of the morning, after the night-long sighs of the sea's sweeping the beach is a virgin place where you walk slowly, knowing that your's is the only trail of footmarks down that shallow, shining slope. North and south the unmarked sand turns slowly with the curve of the continent, dazzling the eyes with whiteness, confounding the eyes with a miracle of cleanliness, baffling the little man on the beach who has carried with him all his life the incredible litter of cities, roads, rooms and unwashed places.

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