“Why d’ya suppose it’s not burning?” says Silver Surfer.


Scrutinizing it, Don’t Follow Don says, “Could be the glue holding it to the top of that strip of wood. Could be actin’ like a fire retardant.”


Gandalf, sitting Buddha quiet by the cookfire, looks up, says, “It’s simpler than that, though I suppose the glue plays a part. That length of cardboard just isn’t ready to catch fire. When it’s ready, it’ll burn.”


More reasons than I have fingers are offered up why the narrow cardboard strip fastened to the top of a slightly wider strip if milled lumber won’t burn. Practical, metaphysical … we cover a spectrum of possibilities. 


Our chatter serves a practical purpose, too, compresses time. We’re hungry, not long on Full Moon Beach after a paddle from Danny’s Secret Launch to the mouth of Raccoon Strait to see the Golden Gate Bridge, then back to Full Moon. 


Without our constant chatter, time would’ve trudged on, endless, the cardboard strip never would’ve caught fire, the underlying wood wouldn’t’ve burned down to hot coals, and Don’t Follow Don wouldn’t’ve been able to cook his wok full of chopped veggies and sea bass, the evening’s main course.


We might’ve starved if we hadn’t compressed time.


I exaggerate. We wouldn’t’ve starved, just not been as full as we were at evening’s end. Silver Surfer and Gandalf multitask, both tamping down our hunger while helping to hold time in check. Silver Surfer has finger-sized carrots and avocado tzatziki dip, Gandalf his signature salad.


Gandalf’s salad is noteworthy, deserves it’s own paragraph. Romain lettuce is the base for persimmons, cashews, apples, cucumbers, blue berries, feta cheese, leftover avocado tzatziki dip. The persimmons, apples, and cucumbers Gandalf slices fresh on the beach.


I may have misled about the state of our hunger. I also may have falsely given the impression that our time-altering chatter focuses on a single topic: a cardboard strip and combustion. It does not.


We also ponder another mystery: what’s happened to Full Moon Beach’s sand fleas? Pastimes, hundreds (thousands?) of the little buggers pogo stick off the sand onto our food, not completely unwelcome, theirs an added source of protein.


Not a single pogo-sticking sand flea adds protein to Don’t Follow Don’s veggies and sea bass tonight (the cardboard does ignite and the fire does burn down to hot coals). 


We tend toward a favorable explanation for the sand fleas’ absence, hibernation, over an apocalyptic one: climate change, king-tide flooding, polluted water.


Background to our chatting, cooking, and eating are recordings of guitarists 15-28 of Rolling Stones Magazine’s 100 top players of all time. The recordings are courtesy of Gandalf, played from his smart phone to his Bluetooth-enabled can-of-bean-sized portable speaker.


The recordings sound a quiet alarm in me. Years ago, on this beach, a noisy group of us filled our lungs, exercised our vocal cords, howled at an eclipsing moon. Our howls are heard. Batman appears on the beach in the guise of Bruce Wayne.


“You guys,” he growls in his raspy voice, “are making too much noise. Citizens are complaining. If you don’t stop, I’ll have to ask you to leave.” We’re suddenly quiet.


Batman glances at our cookfire, clinches his jaw, muscles pop up in his cheeks. He turns his gaze on us. “Whataya doin’ with that fire?”


“Cooking our dinner on it, sir,” I say, my eyes downcast, afraid to look at his steely cold ones.


He doesn’t hesitate, says, “Finish your meal, put that fire out.” His demands made, nothing more to say, he disappears up the wooded hillside he’d bounded down minutes before. 


I haven’t seen Batman on Full Moon Beach since, but you never know, do you? Taking no chances, I ask Gandalf to turn the volume down, he does, turns the volume down.


Better safe than sorry, right?


Music and food gone, we dowse the cookfire, step across the cold beach, prep the boats, shove off. We paddle against the same ebb that carried us to Full Moon Beach, the ebb stronger now, hug the shore to avoid the worst of the current, burn off calories, listen to guitar riffs in our heads.



comiX —> https://photos.app.goo.gl/tow4m4jZiYc4Py7Q6