A small sand-cliff line running the length of much of the bay today; from the southern part anyway. Same man lying down along the shoreline way. Head up the long cliff-line end, where the low, mid-sky moon barely makes it over the sandy clifftop, less waves, until we reach mid bay, where the slightly larger wave, where the shoreline turns, makes it up and over the sandyclifftop, rounding and flattening it, so we have little rhytmic ridges left, where the cliffline would otherwise have stayed; this ribbing section the middle of the man, carrying on until the ribs are flattened and the water moves freely one way and another as the bay curves back around to face the approaching waves. Here his limbs and belly are open to the world—his willing really, following the feeling of ribcage midbay, and the thinking of the hedy clifftop. The old man again there this day, but displaying himslef in slightly different ways—one of an infinite number of ways.