The Heat Islands

Beyond that were the spiraling egg cases of whelks, like prehistoric snakes, and the sand collars of moon snails.
Ahead, Ford could see the tracks of horseshoe crabs furrowing the sand ... then the animals themselves, tan shells as if stamped from plastic: three smaller males attached to a big female, locked in a slow fight to copulate.
A foot beneath the surface, the bottom was alive, one continuous interconnecting cycle, everything going on simultaneously and without pause: egg, sperm, death and decay; all obliquely keyed by tides and heat and a million years of having survived. Yet each random event, anchored in the moment of its viewing, implied small dramas that, to Ford, were as interesting as the source of his own breath.