Mike James

Ingmar Bergman Contemplates Silence on a Beach

This is not a swimmer’s beach. The water is cold year-round, as if cursed by a witch. No matter how many years of waves come ashore, the rocks don’t wear to smoothness. Each is a flint knife, water sharpened. Hard shoes are needed. There are summer days when the water looks like polished candy. That’s what an uncle called hard blue candies he pulled from his pockets. The snow was always falling on those days. It covered boats and docks and streets which led to them. Snow fell at night and the next day and then even another.