Seaweed Watcher

At least that's what he appeared to be staring at, for ages it seemed. I took Lola for a walk a good ways along the East Pier and back. He was standing in exactly the same place as we returned but left before I got to the car. Perhaps he had D.H. Lawrence's poem in mind:

Seaweed

Seaweed sways and sways and swirls
as if swaying were its form of stillness;
and if it flushes against fierce rock
it slips over it as shadows do, without hurting itself.

Yesterday it was a seal watcher. Perhaps I should do a series on men standing on piers, peering.