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Philosofish 3

- By Jack Parvid The absence of storm threat on the horizon, or difficult terrain, or predators and, above all, human life, except my own...

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Philosofish 3

By Jack Parvid

The absence of storm threat on the horizon, or difficult terrain, or predators and, above all, human life, except my own, exempts me from reading anything around me as a sign. Even the meanings—nimble canine, ponderous primate—of shingle under the dog’s trotting paws and my slower boots seem, like the hushing sea, so much part of an elemental lullaby this bright April morning on the Jurassic coast, as we approach Chesil beach from the west, that I allow myself to think I’m thinking of nothing, while the choppy wavelets bat mesmeric volleys of sunlight off their arched backs into my dozing amygdala, and visit playful violence on the skittering pebbles.

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