7:00 PM: Sundown. Receding waves of low tide kept you visible.

Took a deep breath to acknowledge it’s okay that I still don’t hear your name. Is that what you want anyway? In taxonomy, you are assigned the name Fucus vesiculosus. The public refers to you as rockweed, sea oak, black tang, poppers and bladderwrack.

Counted 12 steps, walked over sand and pebbles. Arrived at a line of rocks that had been placed there to break the current.

Ah, you, bladderwrack shouted loudly. Closing my eyes, I could have found you and may be fall over the rocks… made me want sushi or a big bowl of ramen. You called so clearly because of your salty seaweed-like odor.

7:16 PM: A tiny breeze stroked my cheeks, a call to turn around. Faced the East River estuary – sound river – saltwater tidal estuary – navigable tidal strait – watershed.

Wow bladderwrack, the sunset ray of light soaking up your community! Each of you anchoring yourselves to the rocks and overlapping each other.

Sat on the rock, and you changed me. With each breath with you, my butt’s flesh spread more over the rock’s shape, sensing coolness.

A boat passed the navigable tidal strait linking Upper New York Bay with Long Island Sound to the Atlantic Ocean.

You flashed into my eyes, and I felt like you were telling me you were a protector. Golden, green, everything. You spread along the lines of rocks everywhere.

6:53 AM: Sunrise. Tide falling. Excessive heat warning.

Wore a black long-sleeved one-piece swimsuit, black faux leather leggings, and aqua water shoes to match bladderwrack’s distinctive look.

In the roaring water, I thought I heard you calling me to come  between rocky stones just as you all dealt with the water that entered.

Sat on the same rock as last night, with one big change. Now my pelvic organs rested within a fluid-filled space. Surprised by the warm water.

11:04 AM: Temperature rising.  Tide close to the low-water mark. Salty-seaweed air was greeting my burning face.

The substrate you cling onto with your holdfast showed off very dry, forcing me to acknowledge that the rocks are on their own continued existence. They brought the rocks here, so they came from there to here. Where is it there?

Stepped over and down the line of rocks. You gently and clearly asked me to be slow with my feet.  I became conscious about my body weight and felt each footprint, a step of disturbance.

Found a place to squat, close to the low-tide mark, to do a tilt film shot with all the excitement: remembering what it was like to be on the alpine mountains as a child.

No wonder we found each other. You love rocks, and I love rocks! I felt a bladderwrack in front of me: I cling on erosion textile material.

11:15 AM: Was too hot for me.  Hurried back to the base of the land. Stepped into dry muddy-like ground and felt it was an invitation to join you. Hesitated.

Lay down on my belly, a faint sewage smell mixed with compost from the sea, and tiny insects touched me.  Began to wander in and around your physical appearance.

3:40 PM: Soaring Heat. The temperature climbed into the nineties. Rising tide.

The line of rocks was covered with water. Bladderwrack seaweed was invisible to the people’s eyes, submerged in water.

Sat on the same rock as in the morning – I felt you asking me – and all of the versions of myself; inner, pedestrian, dancing, being – to be open towards other selves, a way forward together, towards fluidity.

From the bladder to the kidneys, my organs were immersed in water, a cooling sensation, a call for much-needed relief from the sun’s burning energy for us both.

4:00 PM: A giant wave splash asked me to return to the land. Walked over the line of rocks and stepped down into a pool of sweet-salty water where the dry, muddy-like ground was five hours ago.

Looked down into the murky water. My reflection was attuned with you; an olive-green brown bladderwrack with an elongated thallus and branching fronds with bladders found in pairs.

Lowered myself into a stone-shaped posture and gently placed my left hand in the water. Entered and crawled on all fours at a deliberate pace. Thought I heard a voice. Your voice? Follow me.

7:00 AM: Sunrise. Weekend. The cobalt-blue estuary was calm and quiet. The soundscape of the FDR Drive highway shouted less across the East River.

Sat on the same rock from two days ago. Dropped the iPhone, vertically into the water.

Closed my eyes, brought me to my childhood. Jumped from 10 meters into a lack. My lungs were like floating bladders. Water pushed me up.

7:15 AM: The tide is falling.  The sun reached you in the act of photosynthesizing, and you reached me. Warm dry wind.

7:45 AM: The morning brought the flocks of Branta canadensis from the open water. Receded towards the land. The geese ‘feeding and grooming time’ gave a sense of the tides’ timing. We gave each other respect.

I laid down at the wrack line, the line of washed-up seaweed and debris. The geese community stayed in the middle tidal zone with the bladderwrack community.

7:52 AM: The tide retreated. The sun expanded into shattering bright light.

Do you want me to fall in love with you? Looked at your blister-like receptacles. Pleasure mixed with dead chicken feet thoughts you bring up in me. Filmed.

Touched you. You were so slimy, leathery, and slippery. You seemed to say:  Throw me into the estuary. I licked you before the throw. Salty.