May 19, 2023

Misty morning. People with metal finders speckle the beach, looking for treasure thrown up by the waves. Surfers speckle the ocean, taking advantage of the still hilly waves. The whole panorama is after-storm. Walked the beach a little, then the pier, where there were many fishers, white people, interestingly, on one side, black people on the other. One of the black people caught a baby shark. Surreptitiously to suggest he throw it back, I said, “Can you eat that?” He gave me a recipe for grilled shark with lemon butter. Grackles were everywhere, engaged in either forage, rape, or warfare, but loud in every case. Dolphins sported toward Charleston, looking exactly as I portray them in my paintings. Tossed a crouton to a female grackle at Rita’s, then attacked a salad far mightier than I.