Roll #67-68 (Part II): The Fog


The morning he wore his wetsuit and got radical from one wave


to another


his employer called his cell and shouted "DELINQUENT!"


and he said, "I QUIT"


so he was cut from payroll and asked to pick up his things.


That very afternoon on the beach, a fog crept in


and in-


and in, until the sand disappeared


and the fog became the world all around


and the tide came forth pulled him out to sea


and he drifted through night and day


and in and out of weeks


and almost over a year


to where the righteous waves are.



And when he came to the place where the righteous waves are


they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth


and turned their terrible shoulder and showed their terrible lip


till the surfer raised a SHAKA


and tamed them with the magic trick


of getting shacked in a colossal barrel while grabbing the rail


and they were stoked and called him the most radical surfer of all


and made him king of the waves.


Then after a solid session he grew tired


so he gave up being king of the waves.


The waves roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth


and turned their terrible shoulder and showed their terrible lip


but the surfer sat on his board and waved good-bye.


And he drifted back over a year


and in and out of weeks


and through a day


and onto the shore of his favorite beach


where his toes caressed the coarse sand of the Central Coast---


and he was still unemployed.


Camera: Canon AE-1

Film: Ilford Delta 100

When: December 2020

Where: California

Note: For those who don't have young children or are too far removed from your youth, the following is a "prosical" tribute to Maurice Sendak's "Where The Wild Things Are."

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