Reading Didion. By the water. In the Toronto Beaches. Seeing Didion eye everywhere. Touching the cool. And the serene.
Two hundred sea gulls rise slowly, coming out of the shoreline fog further down in the bay, down where the water looks like molten steel. Where the water is deep, and churns upon itself.
We all like our technologies a lot more before we realized that we made a Faustian deal with the Devil. Plato wept at the knowledge that the new axes more easily felled the trees of Mt. Olympus. In his own lifetime he lamented how Mt. Olympus was radically changed from a lush and diverse forest to a pile of sand that not even a flower could grow upon. And Plato wrote of watching as the spring rains now washed all the sand to the sea.
And now, we can’t even walk along the beach without…
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