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Footprints and Kelp

I’m struck by the alien forms and colours in the rock pools. I look into them, feeling like the eyeballs in the sky, and enjoy the way the seaweed looks as though it is hovering in clear resin. There are creatures in there, as alien as the forms through which they swim: small busy shrimps; shy crabs; wet snails stuck to the rock, some of whom move with a crooked swaggeras though they find the act of carrying their dark shells troublesome.



      I notice one netted dog whelk is sitting cheerfully on top of a common limpet, drilling its way ruthlessly into the other’s shell to break the seal and access the flesh within. I shudder. Life at its most basic, most raw, still manages to inflict a horrible amount of quiet suffering. I wonder how much a limpet suffers. Does it know it’s a limpet? does it feel like a limpet? and what would that feel like? to be a small, firm, jelly like creature, stuck to a rock in the sun, the wind, stuck there as the sea encroaches once more over the rocks…

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