The sea which lies before me as I write, glows rather than sparkles in the may Sunshine. It whips against rocks creating clear salty mists upon my paper, which only works to foreshadow the future of my words. This sea that reflects the sun and moon alike, and prickles an imagination with the points of bright stars that only a painter or a philosopher could decipher. This body of life, of death, of history, and of future flows without discrimination into a vast ocean. The white crests that pummel the beach at my feet are pulling at this glowing miracle; striving to part the sands and make everlasting impressions. A rose petal washes from the blue-green surf to my feet. A red petal of memory or love, or celebration. The sand comforts this elegant part from the fragrant flower as if it is the last of its kind. The glowing shimmering water cleanses the petal to an innocent clean. To my touch the fragile petal droops, sadder than it was free floating.
The first sentence of this short composition was "Cross-Fertilized" (borrowed) from:
Iris Murdoch's The Sea, The Sea