“The Pacific (cont’d)”

“Skylar felt this close to the earth and its enveloping waters: that he saw them as a pretty porcelain teacup, like the ones his grandmother used (the Meissen ones with sinuate sides painted in purple camaieu), brimful of sloshing tea. What a precious feeling, to be so familiar with the great planet that he might have lifted it up by its delicate handle and tipped it precipitously forward, thereby causing the surf to surge far inland. The surf’s ever-recurring liquid whisper sounded like a hush-a-bye-baby lullaby purred by some invisible but all-loving mother to soothe his soul into gentle release. What deep satisfaction he found in this perpetual advance and recession, which nothing could stop, which would continue evermore; though man might laugh or cry or fight or die, this flow and ebb would play on for a thousand million years. Though wars raged and populations starved; though crafts reached other planets and carried explorers to them; though cities fell in rubbled stacks as Gaia’s muscles shuddered; though discoveries extended the longevity of the human body to centuries; though atmospheres got poisoned by the beta-radiative isotopes released by fissile explosions: still the sea would run up to the land like a curious child and then retreat like that same child in doubting shyness.”