5.29.2013

351 of 365

She was kneeling above the tide pool, poking a sea anemone with her finger, observing it recoil and close around an absent meal. The waves were breaking just beyond the rocks, sending the tide swirling through the channels, marooning her temporarily in a systematic pattern of flood and retreat. At the sound of her name called from the shore, she stood, and at the same instant spotted a sleeper wave coming right toward her.

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