Go With The Flow

 

There’s always something to think about, at Quansoo.

There’s always something to see.

 

Something was leaving.

Contorting, carried along,

Going with the flow.

 

Along the edge of the opening, a small section of seaweed slips out to sea.

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Pulled by ebbing tide, the strand feels an eddy, swims snakily…

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It “channels” the motion of a geometrid caterpillar….

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Sinuosity scoots atop sand ripples.

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Twisting.

Not shouting.

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The seaweed seems to sleep a second…

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It seems to wake, to dance…

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On its way to see the sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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