1. A water bottle sits in the park on a worn wooden bench. Suddenly, its arrival delayed until it has already left a second later, a flying walnut appears. A moth! But what small wings it has. What would compel it to come to the park this early with the sun still hanging somewhere behind the clouds on the horizon. Perhaps overwhelmed by the daylight it flits about the bright orange cap of the water bottle. A metallic wire flicks from between its two sets of hundred eyes. The proboscis feels about rim of the cap, slipping along the groves. Fine-tuned the nectar-sucker drops and slips between the bottle and lid. Distorted, through the glass the black filament curls, its width flowing like a wave as it passes under the imperfections on the bottles surface. The proboscis snaps back and the moth, presumably disappointed is gone.
2. Far up upon the hill we watch the waves wash against the inaccessible beach below. Even from this height we can see the shape of mullet cruising back and forth amid the rocks in the shallows. Their shapes traverse the spectrum of colors; from the gentle browns and grays which lie just beyond the sea foam of the break to the deep blues further out, where massive boulders show up as subtle chromatic changes. Somewhere in the middle of this spectrum there is a large silver torpedo mullet swimming in a tight circle. He seems as though he is drowning, gulping in air to save himself.
Minutes drag on the fish flips over so that his pail belly is exposed to the sunlight. He continues to move concentrically, holding to some invisible axis.
His movements become more erratic. He sinks for a few minutes and then appears again at the surface.
Eventually his movement ceases.
Was his swim bladder malfunctioning? Did he experience the fish equivalent to having to having a bowling ball chained to the feet? Relentlessly pulled upward to the harsh oxygen?
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