Yesterday we watched a man get swept to sea. We watched him get saved by
the lifeguards. We watched him, after his recovery, sink to the ground
with his head in his hands The same day we saw a little girl,
neglected, almost get taken to sea by a freak surge.
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When I went to the beach, I had ideas of spending time contemplating
and relaxing, maybe writing a little. I did do a lot of contemplating
and relaxing, but the idea of writing anything in the face of the sea,
of time eternal, seems pointless. Bearing witness to the
brutal forces of nature renders my desire to record my thoughts as
feeble and trivial.
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Puerto Escondido is not a place where you can swim. Not at all. The waves are the largest I've seen in my life. Surfers, and the lifeguards that back them up on jet-skis to keep them from getting swallowed up by the sea, look like specks riding the waves. A surfer standing by told us he had been surfing for five years and he's still not ready for the waves at Puerto.
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A man enters the restaurant smiling gleefully. He and the hostess flirt, her giggles rubbed out by the pounding of the surf. The waterline separates life and death Puffer fish and sea snakes thrown ashore during the high tide languish and suffer in the hot sun.
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