Ecume de mer

Oostduinkerke (04-2018). © Geert Huysman

"Where does that foam come from?" I ask. I've been pondering over it for some time. He - a source of so much knowledge I lack - might know.

"What foam?" he says, distracted.

"Well, here in the surf," I reply. I point to the white substance beneath our feet. The beach has been covered with it for months. As if the fire brigade extinguished a raging inferno here. Could it be a result of pollution? Detergents flowing into the sea through sewers?

"No," he says. "Of course not. That foam, that's écume de mer."

"Aha," I say. "Good to know." Silently, I savor the words on my tongue: écume de mer.

Tastes pleasantly salty.

"How do you translate that?" I ask. But he doesn't hear me. He furiously throws old bread crusts at the seagulls. "Do you see that?" He points triumphantly to a screeching cloud of white wings.

"Yes," I say. "I see it."

Perhaps I'll consult Google Translate later.

Text and photo: Geert Huysman.