A Final Dance

The early sunlight struck the dead seal pup just right. The angle exquisite, the pattern of light and shadow unworldly, making the sand sing.

At first glance the seal looked nothing like what it was. Rather, it looked like a small, smooth, seal-shaped hillock of sand, a miniature dune lovingly sculpted and then left behind by the tide. The retreating waters still licked its seaward edge now and then, as if not wanting to let go, proud of its creation perhaps, touching it, retreating, touching it, retreating, touching it, then not touching it, then not touching it. Letting go.

A small colony of algae covered one end of him, like a green, clumsily knit scarf.

Then, peeking out from this little wonder of sand and shadow, he saw what looked like an eye, black and glistening. Looking closer he saw that it indeed was an eye, still moist, freshly abandoned. He looked closer and saw that what he now looked at was a sandy face, with, yes, a glistening eye. And then, with a chill deep and terrible, he saw what he actually saw: a little seal so freshly and helplessly dead. So beautifully buried by the tide.

Or not. What if it was still alive? He took a quick step back, and another. Not really afraid it would suddenly stir, but not unafraid either. Well removed he looked and looked. There was no movement. Of course there was no movement. The little seal pup was dead. See how still he is, all that undisturbed, unmoving, unbreathing, glittering sand, and the little valleys of shadow equally still.

He approached again. Focusing on the eye now. Drawn to the glistening eye: which now blinked at him. Or he could have sworn it did. Something blinked or moved or shifted. Either the eye or the sand around it.

Or the wind, perhaps? He looked up and around: no wind. He looked back at the seal pup and the curious eye.

It blinked again. It did. He could have sworn it did.