The Shark Perspectives

Oh what a multiplicity of views to be had yesterday between Hove and Seacliff by anyone walking due south along the breezy esplanade.

The first, a shock! The sand is low and wide. There's you, the rocks, a few low daisy plants, and three metres down, the sand, yellow and empty all the way to the jetty except for a man in a wide-brimmed hat, fishing at the edge of the sea. The sea, shallow green, sandbank yellow, shark blue.

A wooden seat on a concrete slab, the rocks, a sudden drop, the sandhills, rusty succulents and clumps of reeds, tipped with brown fuzzy pompoms, waving, the wide flat sand, the lifesavers' red and yellow tent and flags, the sea, shallow green, sandbank yellow, and shark blue.

The bridge over the outlet, a sign, We Care for Water, a steep drop, between black rocks a pool, surprisingly clear.

A narrow pavement, scrubby trees, blocking out the view. A man and a woman, middle aged, walking a bulldog, that stops for a pee. A shuffling of walkers, and bikes.

Wire and shadecloth fence, ragged, low sandhills , camel humps of sand dumped by the council, sprouting seaweed hairs.

The sea, shallow green, sandbank yellow and shark blue, six seagulls, a score of white-sailed yachts, surfboarders paddling north, a motor boat, and on the horizon, near the desal plant, a huge black Trojan Horse.

Children, running, wrapped in towels, a girl with a dozen balloons.

A helicopter, whirring overhead, stops ominously. Shark.