, hundreds of castaways wash up on beaches along the central coast of California, blown by the wind. These stranded sea creatures, known as by-the-wind sailors, are small enough to fit in my open hand. Their bodies are their craft: each has a flat, oval-shaped float that rides atop the water, translucent and purple-blue as a fresh bruise. When I walk on the beach early in the morning, when the wind and the world are just beginning to wake, the water’s edge looks framed in stained
