The Follies
Way out to sea, past the grey reef, stand the follies. There are eleven, but we don’t have names for each. They are all called the follies, because they were all built at the same time for the same reason. They are dirty white spires, long like our teeth, broken off at the tops. The wisest of us say they were built.
We are the seal people. We are the new people. There were people before us but we are the new people. The old people milked the earth and built the grey reef. They walked on land. We live in the grey reef. We swim in the sea. We reason that the old people built the follies, as they built the grey reef.
The wisest of us speak of the power of the old people. They speak of how they chewed the bedrock in their mouths and spat in into the shapes of the grey reef, how they walked on the waves, how they cartwheeled in the sky with the gods. For all that, they are dead and we aren’t. I will tell you why.
The sea came for the old people. The sea was jealous of the grey reef, which once stood on land. The sea was angry that the old people walked upon its waves, and drank from the earth below it, and cartwheeled in the sky where it could not go. So the sea came to the palace of the old people, and lapped three times at its door.
“I AM THE SEA,” it said, “AND I HAVE COME FOR YOUR REEF, AND YOUR DIRT, AND YOUR LIVES.”
It was then the wisest of all the old people spoke to the sea, and knelt.
“O sea, you are most mighty and beautiful, and I know my mistake. Take our reef with our blessing, and let us live in supplication, and give us your fruits, and give us your fishes, and you may rule our reef.”
So this one and the rest of the cleverest among them came to the sea willingly, and became the new people. Their teeth sharpened into points, and skin stretched between their fingers, and their hides became thick and mottled. And many of the old people were upset because they liked to live on land, and they liked to milk the earth, and they liked to cartwheel among the stars.
And these foolish ones built the follies in the sea itself. They thought the follies would hold back the sea. So they skipped across the water and clustered around them. The follies were not broken as they are now. They had heads with three blades that stuck out like a starfish. The foolish ones thought they’d be safe.
The sea rose in anger, and broke the blades of the towers they had made, and smote the foolish old people, and drowned them. And then it rose up to smother the grey reef and it gave the new people the things it had promised them, and that is why we live here to this day.
I like this story, I like it very much. I will go out to where the follies are, where few go now, and duck beneath the water. I will dive down to their bases, to the forests of kelp, where they’re embedded in the rock itself. I see the shattered wrecks of the blades that crowned the follies and am well pleased.
To put my point another way, you should always accept what comes for you. When I am diving in the deep and I find a crab, a big fat orange one, I will catch it in my mouth. I will squeeze its shell with my teeth, but I won’t kill it. The crab will fight. It will strain its legs. It will pinch its claws. It will pull and roil and scream with its body.
It will go like this until it passes a certain point. The crab will stop. It will give up. It will go limp. It will accept what has happened to it. That’s when my teeth will punch through its shell.
The Follies
Way out to sea, past the grey reef, stand the follies. There are eleven, but we don’t have names for each. They are all called the follies, because they were all built at the same time for the same reason. They are dirty white spires, long like our teeth, broken off at the tops. The wisest of us say they were built.
We are the seal people. We are the new people. There were people before us but we are the new people. The old people milked the earth and built the grey reef. They walked on land. We live in the grey reef. We swim in the sea. We reason that the old people built the follies, as they built the grey reef.
The wisest of us speak of the power of the old people. They speak of how they chewed the bedrock in their mouths and spat in into the shapes of the grey reef, how they walked on the waves, how they cartwheeled in the sky with the gods. For all that, they are dead and we aren’t. I will tell you why.
The sea came for the old people. The sea was jealous of the grey reef, which once stood on land. The sea was angry that the old people walked upon its waves, and drank from the earth below it, and cartwheeled in the sky where it could not go. So the sea came to the palace of the old people, and lapped three times at its door.
“I AM THE SEA,” it said, “AND I HAVE COME FOR YOUR REEF, AND YOUR DIRT, AND YOUR LIVES.”
It was then the wisest of all the old people spoke to the sea, and knelt.
“O sea, you are most mighty and beautiful, and I know my mistake. Take our reef with our blessing, and let us live in supplication, and give us your fruits, and give us your fishes, and you may rule our reef.”
So this one and the rest of the cleverest among them came to the sea willingly, and became the new people. Their teeth sharpened into points, and skin stretched between their fingers, and their hides became thick and mottled. And many of the old people were upset because they liked to live on land, and they liked to milk the earth, and they liked to cartwheel among the stars.
And these foolish ones built the follies in the sea itself. They thought the follies would hold back the sea. So they skipped across the water and clustered around them. The follies were not broken as they are now. They had heads with three blades that stuck out like a starfish. The foolish ones thought they’d be safe.
The sea rose in anger, and broke the blades of the towers they had made, and smote the foolish old people, and drowned them. And then it rose up to smother the grey reef and it gave the new people the things it had promised them, and that is why we live here to this day.
I like this story, I like it very much. I will go out to where the follies are, where few go now, and duck beneath the water. I will dive down to their bases, to the forests of kelp, where they’re embedded in the rock itself. I see the shattered wrecks of the blades that crowned the follies and am well pleased.
To put my point another way, you should always accept what comes for you. When I am diving in the deep and I find a crab, a big fat orange one, I will catch it in my mouth. I will squeeze its shell with my teeth, but I won’t kill it. The crab will fight. It will strain its legs. It will pinch its claws. It will pull and roil and scream with its body.
It will go like this until it passes a certain point. The crab will stop. It will give up. It will go limp. It will accept what has happened to it. That’s when my teeth will punch through its shell.