I counted twenty different things that were alive and moving. Probably, countless more on a microscopic level. Only one thing was left to do: return it from whence it came. I thought about dropping it into the East River, but I didn't know if it was salt water and I didn't want to kill the shell community or cause a major environmental catastrophe by adding this new life-form to a different system.
After a long ride during rush hour to Coney Island and having fell asleep on the train a couple times, I found that the beach was vastly different from earlier that morning. For one, the jetties were almost completely submerged and it looked as though a storm was rolling in.
Since it was high-tide, I couldn't put it back exactly where we found it. Instead, I put it as close as possible. I made sure that none of the scavenger seagulls would swoop down at the last second and dash it against the rocks. I watched as the waves carried it away and it disappeared beneath the surf.
4 comments:
Andrew it looks like a humanoid thing! Lol The beauty of things unknown...
Perhaps it was! ;-)
this is a very good thing you did, most wonderful, reminds me of the monks who wore masks so they woudn't inhale and kill any insects. you are a fine person!
It's funny, because I don't necessarily have qualms with the death of things. I think that everything has a time and a place and that some of those creatures die so that others may live. (This all coming from a former vegan.)
But in this case, it seemed like I just had to do it. I was so tired and exhausted. I kept falling asleep on the train. But I felt driven to do so. I felt as though if I didn't do it, hadn't returned the world within a world, somehow our world would be effected. It seemed almost appropriate that the weather in which I returned the shell community was in a brewing storm.
I do believe that little things have great power to effect and change bigger ones. So perhaps this was needed to restore the balance.
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