Walking from the parking lot to the beach, 
we can hear snorts and guttural bellows 
of elephant seals sprawled on the sand.

They heaved their bodies from the ocean
by the hundreds, thick fur seawater-slick.
Exertion on land ripples their blubber.           

Immense mothers cuddle pups, 
shielding against feverish young males.  
Dominant bulls left the shore 

before weaning even began, 
and are no longer here 
to muscle out challengers for the harems. 

We stand on decks propped up against the bank
while sandpipers on swift and slender legs
bustle among the herd of seals below. 

By month’s end, the pups will have learned to swim
and the beach will be empty of them all –
their fate in the tides, where great white sharks lurk            

and orcas prowl, as precarious as our own.
Back in the car, the radio blares news,
a dismal rundown of the world’s crises:

global warming, political impasse. 
We drive away on Highway 1, 
more of which slides into the surf each year.