Velella Velella Blues

No rocks here... just a few billion Velella velellas

The blue-rubber remains of the small wind-blown cnidarian Velella velella blanket Washington's outer coast this spring. Consequently, paying homage to the sea with only footprints has become a rather slippery affair - one accompanied by a distinctly visceral squish of destruction and the salty stench of decay.

As I drifted north from Ocean Shores over the past few days, I couldn't help but compare this mass incursion of colonial sailors to the physical evidence of other invasions along the State's tidal margins.

First there was Seabrook... the sudden pop-up village of well-heeled vacation home elites... and, then... only 12.6 miles away... there was Tahola... with all the rough edges of Quinault reservation life. The residue of human generations, gentrification, and genocide... all in the same liminal plane as that living-dying hydrozoan hoard.

It brings to mind our nation's de facto motto... E pluribus unum... out of many, one... the ones who survive... the ones who remain... all of those left behind... haunted by some Malthusian spectre... singing the Velella velella blues.

(Written 2015)