I was superficially looking into the depths of Monterey Canyon, which is older, deeper, and wiser than the supposedly Grand Canyon, and is protectively covered by the swollen waters of Monterey Bay to boot, without the misfortune to be stuck in some low down, scabby desert, but the secrets it holds close remained beyond my flimsy reach.
The jellyfish that flash those cool electric lights from their tendrils were characteristically smug about it. The fierce Humboldt squid were busy sucking the marrow out of a juicy bone. It was once a bigger bone but that was a long time ago and none of them were looking back. There were sharks and seals and dolphins who were unafraid. Regular old fish with fins swimming around, too. Who had time to care or take notice of some dolt who can barely breathe? Otters were lollygagging on their backs while eating abalone on ice. Talk about sweet and delicious. There were whales having a whale of a good time, blue whales, and grey whales, humpback whales and killer whales, and whales that looked a little pinkish around the fluke. Unlike mine, their limitations were nowhere to be found.
The rise of the oceans, which is said to be man made, which nominally includes women too, and a bad thing to boot, looked like a pretty good thing to all of the cooler creatures fortunate enough to be swimming in it, or floating in it, cooler than you or me will ever be, backs or fronts, and digging it while it was happening.
Every single one of them was there, and here, first. So who’s ocean is it anyway? Whose tale is really wagging what? Creatures stuck with only two flimsy legs will probably never get it. None of these strong swimmers needs to walk the walk or talk the talk to prove anything. They can all travel through time and space like no one’s business. There are no right angles. There are no straight lines. The motive for profit moves none of them.
I don’t know any dull witted creature walking on Earth who can say the same.
You might think you do, but you don’t either.