December presents the ancient assembly, brought down by diggers’ explosion, earth skin erosion: a resting place. Honeycomb stone fizzes with surf froth then releases, awkward blocks and orbs of brown. Black tables of rock, scarred from old shells, are locked into sand to the midriff. Volcanic marbles brought by fire from hinterland seas of magma, live out old age awash with spray and rainbow inklings. Geometric jokes of feel-good boulders rest inside one another’s joins, each shift of shadow providing forms unavailable in a dictionary. Lines of perfect grey, better than enamel, trace where lava must have cooled once upon.
Nearby reef at Wye River. Photograph by B. Harvey.