Beach Comber

by

Jansen Estrup

Many years ago on Florida's Gulf Coast, I wandered alone among clumps of sea oats onto a beach where the wind was indifferent and low clouds had gathered. The air was heavy oppressing the waves, which were green as if sick of themselves, and they pressed against the shore only half-heartedly.

Of course the beach was deserted on such a day. Not a tourist or fisherman, nor even a gull could be seen for miles.

But as I looked I did see something. Too large for mere flotsam, it did not belong. As I neared an umbrella could be made out.

Closer, I saw a colorful beach towel spread beneath it and something reclined on it.

I laughed. It was a shovel-nosed shark, about 3½ feet long and he was wearing a pair of ray-ban sun glasses. He just lay there, dead eyes staring out to sea.

He hadn't been there so very long. No crabs or sea birds had found him yet. Even his skin still retained a black wholesome sheen.

It was eleborately staged, and not cheap, either. Early installation art. Perhaps that art form did not even have a name yet.

Some prankster had made this gift not too long before I happened along. I looked around, expecting to see a Candid Camera crew, but only the tall grasses and a distant palm tree were visible.

After a few minutes I wandered on, but over these  55 years, on gloomy days, I have wondered whether I was the only one to see this, if the tide washed it away before the next visitor. And I've remembered this nameless artist and prank with a chuckle, so I use this page to thank him, or her.