September 27th, 2009:

On one level, everything has a point of reference. Every thought comes from another. An instance, a pinprick in time.

Then there are sea gulls. They are like watching toddlers at the beach. I know it is their instinct that fuels their movement. This appears to make them even more human.

They wait on the beach, first ahead of the waves, not wanting to get their feet wet.

When a wave recedes, they move forward and grub for sea goodies. Its all in the timing.

They work quickly, but the next wave inevitably rushes back in at them, threatening to wet their feet. They turn and run back up the beach. Chased by the sea. Their little legs looking like a 3 year old running down the isle at the grocery store.

The laughter this causes is out of time. It has no reference. Just a deep seated union.

Watching Seagulls is just funny. No ticket required.

Earnest Hemingway just ran by. He looked like some Greek Neptune – Chiseled. Granite. Solid. Even his features were mythic. He skated across my canvas.

Behind him, gentle swells rise and fall. Sea air charges him.

He’s tethered to a mystical animal by some sort of umbilicus.

This odd vision of a God tethered to a dog running laboriously in the sand. You could feel the footfall. A statement about how solid and fragile we are all at the same time.

Somewhere down the beach this odd pair shuffles forward. Miles from here by now. Penned by other authors and playwrights.