by Josh Kesling

Autumnal wrack lines linearly diffuse across beachscapes, demarcating the relationships between land and sea. Peppered with copper browns and aged maroons, not to forget the faded plums, these lines sprawl. They push through glassy pasts with unknown futures. Leaf litter has a defined fate, and it settles throughout brine-buttered interstices and micro valleys. Seaward deposits calculatedly arrive as water mixtures sprint ashore. Having accumulated multifarious stories from damp and (un)damp corners of the tidal market, these natural works receive many visitors. Story readers enter from every direction, salivating at the chance to consume this line’s knowledge. 

Along comes the inaugural wrack admirer, who feverishly straddles the line. Indecision plagues the leopard crab, and the bunching queue produce nettling sounds. The first bite tastes like a sugary sun, and it boasts a softness that gently morphs into a smoky note. Although rare, subtidal wildfires can burn through benthic settlements, infusing scallop and mussel smokes into adjacent spaces. The second taste transcends sweetness, and it projects images of shimmering belts that blanket shallow surface waters. Dynamic velvet rafts caress the warm heterotrophs passing through the area. These fuzzy bodies belong to otters and wolves, who engage in endless chase cycles. Despite their perpetual state of calm disarray, these animals always pay their respects to the wavering ribbons. They never miss an opportunity to greet the jaded Saccharina latissima. 

A second and seasoned enthusiast approaches the line. In an equanimous pursuit, accompanied by a series of small lunges, appendages extend atop the materials. Like a sea witch exerting influence on their steaming vessel, the desirer carefully selects an item. This taste is unfamiliar and pleasantly unsettling. Soon, disconcerting chews evolve into palatable avenues. Arousing indeed, the consumer’s eyes rapidly rove into a maple line, only to find a small patch of unwavering grasses. Lining a fragmented stream, hundreds of miles inland, with herby friends from before their time, a quartet of stalks blithely sit. Inflorescence abounds, transcending the boundaries of its overused stream peripheries. Grassy pieces extend above the groundstory while the crimson fractures slide across silk ends. The exchange yields a rustle which excites a salamander who decides to force ripples across the channel. A symphony emerges between the species, and the coastal forest listens. “Zizania palustris” says the fish crow, who proudly imparts his knowledge. Moments later, the black bird darts landward, searching for another rice snack.  

The afternoon sleepily slips into a sunless evening, and smaller wrack followers disperse into kelp and maple forest edges. This autumnal wrack finally experiences biotic solitude.