Humor, Life
Comments 4

Seal-self doesn’t see in grayscale.

I cross my legs at the ankle and spread my arms, belly down in the water. Friar’s Bay is shallow and calm, the water extra salty, the same temperature as the air. I float effortlessly: only nose, forehead and eyes above the water. The rest of me lurks just below the surface. I am a seal.

I am a seal, and I monitor the strange beings hauled out on the sand before me. I flip and spin, to watch out to sea where the moored sailboats disgorge more of the many-limbed creatures. They too will haul out on the beach.


I flutter my flip…er, hands and feet to float over the little reef. There’re fish and seaweeds and urchins to be looked at in there. I flip and spin. The little black dog occupying the beach is heading toward two empty beach chairs and blue beach bag filled with snacks and novels. My seal self doesn’t care. My person self has concerns. The dog passes the chairs. Seal self dives, disappears among the rocks, emerges farther along the beach.

Seal self and me self roll and roll in the water: the sky, the sea, the sky, the sea – shades and tones of blues and greens that defy likelihood. Somewhere else, someplace we used to be, it is grayscale. Some faintly remembered place where seal self will never be, doesn’t want to think about. We float, eyes above the waterline.



  1. i believe seal-self will never have to see the approaching blizzard. seal-self is content being ignorant of the blizzard and its aftermath. Person self. well, forget about that.

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