In the little cosmic world, many things exist. So many, they can't be listed. There is a dock reaching far into the bay standing, worn and gray, pummeled by the waves, night after day. The tiny oysters live in their tiny world, so protected and yet so whirled.
Seaweed undulates silently while tiny rocks magnanimously crash and slide.
In the day, the sun shines brilliantly, gaily, so smiling and full of hope. Sit back in the gloom. Don't forget the mindless sorrow of rejection when a stranger gets to meet you, like you, then runs in the other direction. Always a red furry head is there to be petted with big chocolate, liquid eyes oozing sympathy with endless love and a huge tongue licks your hand so goo-ily wetted. What about standing on the rock's edge your long hair flung vertically back by the relentless, kindless, wind, Northwest, of course.