Perfect Picture

After I posted last week I realized that cemeteries would have been a more appropriate post for this week, oh well. This is a memory I wrote. It is part of a larger memoir I have to write for one of my classes (unless I edit it out :) ).

We stared out at the gray rock in the ocean, like the head of a seal poking it's head above the waves.

“Where are the seals?” My parents, siblings, and I heard the question, muttered by the congregated tourists. We mirrored the skies and the calling sea gulls.

“Can I see the binoculars?” My dad asked my mom. She unlooped them from around her neck and passed them to him.

The water moved hypnotically below, the gray of the Pacific crashing into white. Tired of looking for the missing seals on the distant rock, my fingers traced the rust marks on the guard rail. Suddenly a shout rose above the waves and the sea gulls. “There they are!”

A single seal had pulled its dark bulk out of the water onto the shelf of rock. That one seal's movement explained to its audience what to look for. We looked out and saw that the lumpy gray rock of moments before, had been transformed into a swarming hive of seals.

“Oh.” I paused, and then gave a little nod “I'm taking a picture!” My hands moved towards my eyes framing the rock and the seals as I pushed an imaginary camera button. “Click” I said, audibly, and stored away the 'picture' in my mind.