Oral History: The Lunar Weaver (Skeleton Coast)

Folklore

[Tape begins. Background: Constant wind, rhythmic wash of surf against shale.] Elder: It was not always a stone. Not a cold stone. [Sighs] Elder: Before the salt took the coast, there was the Weaver. She lived in the space between breaths. She wanted the world to be soft, so she spun this silk, silver as a fish's belly. Child: Did it smell like fish? Elder: No, child. It smelled like rain on hot sand. Now, listen. She began to drape it. North to south. She was careful. Very careful. [Long pause. Sound of a wooden chair scraping on grit.] Elder: But the mountain, the one the fog hides now, it had a tooth. A sharp bit of basalt. She pulled the silk too tight. Child: Like my string? Elder: Exactly like your string. The silk snagged. And because the moon was the spool, the moon came down with the thread. [Tide crashes loudly; audio clips slightly] Elder: It hit the peak. That is where the scar comes from. That white line we see. The moon tore. She tried to pull it back, but the basalt held. Child: Is she still there? Elder: She is gone. She left the silver behind. That is why the foam on the beach is white; it is just the leftover silk, fraying in the wind. [Sighs] Elder: My father told me this when the ships were still coming. Now the ships are rust. The moon is still scarred.