( between ) two worlds

Like snowflakes, no two are alike. And like the artificial sleet in a snow globe, they drift idly in suspended space, quivering inside a living gelatin.

This flood of velum-thin salmon scraps is flushed from the dock back out to sea. One species waste is another's feast.

Thousands of gray specks bob on a swelling emerald and cobalt landscape below an evergreen mountain and cyan sky.

But my eye is drawn to the flutters, swoops, and dives of aggressive, thieving gulls. Black-faced with sharp ebony beaks, white-faced with golden beaks, white-faced with black beaks, or soot-speckled seabirds.

A little skimmer must battle the flocks for a nip of milky, floating flesh. Buoying on an air current he selects a target. He bombs nimbly and with a flash of flaps he dips his bill to emerge dangling a stringy treasure. He swallows in two rapid, choking gulps while fending off vicious competitors out to steal his prize. Bigger and stronger rivals attempt to stay a flight slapping their coral-red feet along the surface while those thoroughly beaten simply alight onto the sea.

Gulls that have gotten their fill lay alongside the frothy path that leads out of the bay with the tide. The crowd chatters and giggles like lunatics in an asylum. Cawing and crying as wings audibly cut the crisp yet faintly slimy air.

And on the other side of this transparency feed cannibalistic pink salmon, slithering amongst the powder in the snow globe occasionally breaking the plane between air and aqua with spontaneous, surging hops.

But a lone, fallen, ash-tipped feather swirls, dances amid the debris, peaceful between two frenetic, carnivorous, swarming worlds.

summertime

king

jumping humpy

What's it like to see it rain falling on an unbroken ocean plane in reverse?

The drops rise unseen to break the surface, leaving dilating concentric rings while disappearing back into the gray mist above. But before vanishing they lose vertical momentum and slap harshly, crashing through the dark glass.

Impervious to rapidly transforming fissures and commotion above, schools hover below, almost frozen in time and space, except for a slight flutter of tails to maintain their position as the tide ebbs.

A select few leap high and land gracefully, sliding smoothly into the water with silent gusto. The rest arc awkwardly and crack the sea with a cacophony of smacks and thwacks as soft bellies are pummeled by the hard edge of the frigid sea.

My peripheral vision is full of inky shapes blotting the ocean and charcoal mountains. I can't distinguish between swooping birds and sailing fish. Both inhabit a space just mere inches above the undulating tide.

And when their silhouettes mix I don't know which has soared and which has sunk.

seeker seal

Who's it here?

I know we're playing hide-and-seek, but you've reversed the rules. Cheeky. You find me first and then wait patiently for me to find you.

I can feel your obsidian eyes on me. I scan the surface from port to starboard while bobbing on glassy swells in a pea-green, pea pod kayak.

A liquid screen rolls and then falls and our eyes lock. You give me mere seconds before you slip back under, away.

The sea shivers beneath me. I swivel my head, searching the kelp blooms. You spot me. I see you.

Are you as curious about me as I am about you? I hope so. But you're gone before I can ask.

I paddle one, three, five brief strokes towards your last hiding place. Where are you now? To my right? My left? Behind me. I spin a quick circle leaving a halo wake.

You're quicker. Closer, farther away. Left, right. Could you really be that quick? Or is this a trick?

One bullet-shaped, bald head pops up for a peak on my left. Another whiskered muzzle crests on my right. I knew you had a friend along.

Let's just play a little longer.

xip

playful porpoises

Who knew a bowling pin was so graceful. Elegant even. Sleek, aerodynamic lines. Perfect for dancing ballet along the bow. Nose first, effortlessly matching our pace.

Pins that bounce erratically in an imaginary pinball machine just below the waves. Crocheting underwater patterns. Looping inside-out then outside-in. Crisscrossing before tearing seams with glossy, ebony dorsal fins.

All this natural weaving, even with a bit of proud dramatics. Three surfacing side-by-side into the salty air. Dipping, diving to do it again. Darting to and fro, zig-zagging above and below one another. And the ever grandiose side spin to bare that white belly.

Show offs.

bear nugget

for her

don't shoot