The Truro Bear And Other Adventures (2008)
“You know what I mean.
The sky, after all, stops at nothing, so something has to be holdingour bodiesin its rich and timeless stables or elsewe would fly away.
Off Stellwagenoff the Cape,the humpbacks rise. Carrying their tonnage of barnacles and joythey leap through the water, they nuzzle back under itlike childrenat play.
They sing, too.And not for any reasonyou can’t imagine.
Three of themrise to the surface near the bow of the boat,then divedeeply, their huge scarred flukestipped to th...e air.
We wait, not knowingjust where it will happen; suddenlythey smash through the surface, someone beginsshouting for joy and you realizeit is yourself as they surgeupward and you see for the first timehow huge they are, as they breach,and dive, and breach againthrough the shining blue flowersof the split water and you see themfor some unbelievablepart of a moment against the sky—like nothing you’ve ever imagined—like the myth of the fifth morning gallopingout of darkness, pouringheavenward, spinning; then they crash back under those black silksand we all fall backtogether into that wet fire, youknow what I mean.MoreLess
The sky, after all, stops at nothing, so something has to be holdingour bodiesin its rich and timeless stables or elsewe would fly away.
Off Stellwagenoff the Cape,the humpbacks rise. Carrying their tonnage of barnacles and joythey leap through the water, they nuzzle back under itlike childrenat play.
They sing, too.And not for any reasonyou can’t imagine.
Three of themrise to the surface near the bow of the boat,then divedeeply, their huge scarred flukestipped to th...e air.
We wait, not knowingjust where it will happen; suddenlythey smash through the surface, someone beginsshouting for joy and you realizeit is yourself as they surgeupward and you see for the first timehow huge they are, as they breach,and dive, and breach againthrough the shining blue flowersof the split water and you see themfor some unbelievablepart of a moment against the sky—like nothing you’ve ever imagined—like the myth of the fifth morning gallopingout of darkness, pouringheavenward, spinning; then they crash back under those black silksand we all fall backtogether into that wet fire, youknow what I mean.MoreLess
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