The Sea And The Shore

A pair of gibbous creatures, who had lived in the sea since time began, which hadn’t been long before, were washed upon the shore one day and became the discoverers of land. “The light that never was!” exclaimed the female, lying on the sand in the sun.

“You’re always seeing things that never were,” grumbled the male. “You’re always wanting things that aren’t yet.” In the female, lying on the sand in the sun, a dim intuition and prescience began developing.

She prefigured mistily things that would one day become rose-point lace and taffeta, sweet perfumes and jewelry. The male, who had a feeling only for wetness and wash, mumbled, “You’re a little moist for things like that, a little moist and shapeless.”

“I only need to lose a little amorphousness around the waist,” she said. “It won’t take more than a million years.” And she began flobbering, almost imperceptibly, toward the scrubby brown growth beyond the sand and toward the sun. “Come on,” she said. But the male had globbed back into the sea, and was gone.

A couple of eons later, the male, unable to get along alone, reappeared one day upon the shore. He noted with faint satisfaction that the female’s shapelessness was beginning to take shape and had become almost shapely. He turned back toward the sea, but a mindless urge deep inside him took on the frail flicker of desire.

Suddenly the sea seemed something less than satisfying. He turned about and began flobbering up the sand toward the female, who seemed certain to reach the greening undergrowth in another two thousand years. “Hey, Mag,” he shouted. “Wait for baby!”

MORAL: Let us ponder this basic fact about the human: Ahead of every man, not behind him, is a woman.

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