the Beach

Brilliant sunshine scorched the sandy beach with blistering rays. The tang of the ocean's salty smell and ephemeral mist floated on the wind, as if the very essence of the ocean joined the air's moist and impalpable form. Large waves boomed as they crashed onto a long, curving rock promontory, their tremendous power now transformed into a cloud of floating droplets and wispy sprays. Slowly reforming their density and weight, the receding breakers reclaimed the falling vaporous tendrils of haze as it retreated into the sea, ready to regroup for another attack. Playful Sand Pipers hopped about, searching the moist sand for their preferred dinner of periwinkles, mussels, and other beach tidbits.

Here and there, scavenging sea gulls flocked about, feasting on the vulnerable crabs and starfish exposed by the morning tide. Small rock pools teemed with myriad sea creatures; although trapped, they were content to wait for the familiar returning tide and freedom. As always, life here revolved around the vast bounty of a sea alive with thousands of different marine species; they all counted on their clean and pristine environment, just as mammals depend on clean air.

It was a beautiful, but ephemeral vista; the seascape changed with the time of day, subject to seasonal storms and erratic weather. Sleepy sunlight in the morning progressed to furnace-like rays at noon, slowly waning as the sun dropped in the sky, as the descending curtain of twilight changed the vista with moonlight or the veil of night. Certain features retained their form. The shoreline was as it always had been: fine white sand framed by sculptured rock, slowly altered by the ravages of wind and wave - a living canvass etched by the mercurial moods of Mother Nature.

Far out to sea, several miles from the island's atoll, a tremendous explosion went unnoticed by the seashore's busy creatures. A passing pod of killer whales were startled by the noise, and instinctively turning away from the sharp sounds of screeching metal, resuming their leisurely pursuit of food.

It came bit by bit. At first, only small black streaks were washed ashore by the pounding surf. Soon, the relentless waves were spreading jet-black blankets over the once pure white sand. Tidal pools that once contained life now became cesspools of death. The noxious ooze soon turned the beach into a black carpet that stretched as far as the eye could see. A tar covered gull struggled to free itself from the sticky mire, but could only wiggle it's clotted wings and offer a mournful cry from it's oil encrusted beak.

Far from the scene of death, a well-polished mahogany conference desk gleamed in the sun. The room’s rich décor projected money, class, and power. A group of nattily dressed executives occupied luxurious leather chairs, listening to the tall, distinguished man at the head of the table. “Gentlemen”, he began, “recent events in the gulf have provided an opportunity, but we must act fast. If OPEC turns off the pumps, oil prices will skyrocket, and we are the ones who will gain. We’re reactivating our entire tanker fleet to fill our storage tanks. An executive raised his hand to ask a question. “Mr. Morgan, are we including the mothballed in Seattle? Morgan raised his eyebrows and replied, “Yes. I want our storage tanks full. Prices will be sky-high and our stockholders, ourselves included, will make a fortune.
The room erupted in polite applause; elated stockholders and pompous Chairmen swapped claims of personal additions, generally extolling their good fortune. After the round of congratulatory backslaps and glad-handing finished, the room settled down, and everyone returned to reports and charts.

Through an open window, the haunting cry of a passing gull caused a few to glance up at the disturbance. A well-dressed executive, his oily black hair immaculately coiffed, walked over and shut the window: the noisy birds were a nuisance and a pest.