On the verge of the sea... where ebbing tides leave the canvas of streams and sea-plants,
and Piping Plovers time their visits to forage for food...
... this is called a "wrack zone"...
... sounds like a zone where things destroyed are deposited,
and "things destroyed" in human jargon are the things one can simply throw away...
Looking at these sea-plants and those nimble birds,
I am enchanted by the vitality of the whole scenery,
and I simply cannot call this world a "wrack zone"...
