Waves slap the beach, rake fingers across the sand, ooze around a tower built of chicken feet and blackened claws and cracked beaks held together with toothpicks and bits of twine. Someone spent a long time constructing this skeletal structure, this scaffolding of scorched bone that juts like an antennae, a sentinel, above the sand. It seems too intricate to have been built by just a single pair of hands, it must have required two sets working together to tie the delicate carcass bits together, tug tight the hundreds of tiny knots. Yes, we worked so long on this, you and I, and this is what we built, this intricate, rickety beacon, stuck here and there with a scrap of sinew, a greasy bit of gristle. Its pinnacle is crowned by a single black feather, lustrous and perfectly curled, bobbing slightly in the wind that blows off the sea, nodding yes, yes, yes for a few short hours more before the wind snatches it from its perch, before the waves reluctantly pull the entire edifice straight down.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment