A learned colleague has a enviable collection of fossilized shells in his office. He tells me where to go to find them. It sounds very easy. You go to a certain beach on a remote island on the East coast of Okinawa and there in grey muddy cliffs you find the fossils.
Barely recovered from the morning dive I mount Big Red and off we go. The first thing we stumble upon is a party. Not sure what was going on but great dancing. Spring is here.
I bike across long bridges spanning turquoise lagoons, stopping to admire birdlife.
I get to the island and meander.
But I have seen,
Pointing her shapely shadows from the dawn,
An image tumbled on a rose-swept bay,
A drowsy ship of some yet older day;
And, wonder’s breath indrawn,
Thought I – who knows – who knows – but in that same
(Fished up beyond Aeaea, patched up new
– Stern painted brighter blue -)
That talkative, bald-headed seaman came
(Twelve patient comrades sweating at the oar)
From Troy’s doom-crimson shore,
And with great lies about his wooden horse
Set the crew laughing, and forgot his course.
I find the beach.
This is how to find it:
Who cares! What a great day. I ride back into the sunset thinking about the evening’s meal which will be fish soup with salad.