The stretch of beach is strewn with large rocks, not the sort of place that invites sandal-shodden strolls. Contrasting color divides the scene. On one side, rough rocks protect the underlying sand from erosion. On the other side, crazy algae splashes the sand like streaks of fashionably dyed green swaths in an edgy contemporary hair coiffure. With each fall of the tide, the algae gleams green at sun, sand and shore as if it were its last appearance on stage. It is at home, abandoned to the forces of the elements. The riot of color catches the eye and the heart.
A coastal oil spill would play havoc with this bright green outcropping. Oil is our lifeblood, so we keep strategic reserves secure in deep underground salt domes. Dark, still, ancient, lifeless reserves harbored in salt domes. Very dreary.
At face value, we know the oil is far more important to us than this patch of green. It plies a place of security since it provides untold improvements in our lives. We need it. We keep it secure.
The poor algae knows no better than to play with wild abandon, shunning the dull brown rocks for the small stretch of sand. Unprotected and prone to the elements, its time may be short.
Still, our hearts belong to the algae. It is yet alive. It provides us an antidote for an otherwise drab scene.
We walk on, as we eventually must, and we are left to wonder. In the ebb and flow of our own life events, is there enough gaudy bright green to offset the cold, dark reserves that gather with age?