Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.”
–T.S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
My father stood about a stone’s throw away, ankle-deep in the ocean’s tide. The wind whipped my hair around and my voice was carried off along the beach, tumbling out of ear shot; he probably hadn’t heard me. I sat farther back on the shore, on a beach towel spread out on dry sand. As I tucked a lock of hair that was flitting around my face behind my ear, I saw my father turn around.
“You remind me of that guy who walked along the shore with his trousers rolled,” I called.
Frowning, he barked, “Huh?” Continue reading “The Ocean Always Moves”