We live near a shipping lane. With all that marine traffic, it is not surprising that random stuff appears on our shoreline. Most are battered hunks of plastic and metal, fading to ribbons amongst the rocks. But sometimes more interesting detritus washes up. Old phones. Picture frames. Trainers. All have the mark of the sea on them, bleached and rotten.
The flotsam was a huge issue for many other locals. They contacted several shipping companies about who was responsible for the mess. Every organisation pointed to another. After a few years of administrative circles, we got forced out with litter pickers and rubbish bags. Our elders made us scoop up these riches, and send them to landfill forever.
I never understood their behaviour. Everything that washed up was incredible. My biggest dream was to grab a mail sack, and haul everything back home. This was the closest we would ever get to pirate treasure, and we were running the wrong way.
At least our excursions meant we got to know the landscape. I spotted a rocky trail that lead to a cave positioned in the wedge of a cliff. The water had pushed a good dollop of the overspill to this spot.
They sent half a dozen of us to look inside.
The cave widened until it was three times my height. On the floor lay scraps of fishing net, faded cola cans, and seaweed wrapped timber. We got to work.
Perhaps I was the only one who noticed that the objects increased in sophistication the further we moved in. Broken telephone that would never make a call. Toy robots with faded lights for eyes. A whole washing machine, the lid open in a forever yawn.
When I comprehended they were part of a wider collection, I almost told someone. But the others were too busy ripping the world apart.
The feathers on the bird that swept down were longer than my arms. Both eyes were truck wheels. A beak as long as a tiger glinted in the sunlight from the entrance.
At that moment the word my brain reached for was kinship. I understood the excitement of finding such rare jewels swept in from another land. The frustration at those who tried to steal the keys to heaven.
