Sea Fever

On Ocean Beach, fugitive rainbows danced about the tumbling surf, legions of tiny birds ran comically up and down the gleaming wet apron of the sea with each wave, and something on the sand had attracted a small crowd.

The downward slit of the mouth, the tail fin shaped like a cutlass, they’d found a young shark stranded on the beach which they were daring to touch and prod.

‘Amazing creatures,’ I said, ‘no real bone just muscle to give them more strength, skin not scales for extra speed through the water, and fins that could turn them on a dime.’

So saying I boldly picked up the shark in both hands, strode into the waves, never mind my trousers, and cast him back into the sea. My good turn for the day, for as long as it lasted. Returning on my walk he was washed up again, too weak or too sick to swim against the tide.

Voracious predator he’d never grow up to be. Amen.