Before them, the beach was deserted. They seem to have come out of the sand.
The notched tire tracks they leave on the sand draw the filigree traces of the Saint Vitus Dances, these demonstrations of collective hysteria that affected Europe in the Late Middle Ages. Witnesses of these phenomena at the time described indistinct groups of men and women, children and elderly, suddenly starting to dance until exhaustion. This dance here is erratic…more of an agitation, of which one thinks that nothing punctuates its rhythm.

One imagines that by staying long enough to observe these chaotic movements, an organized sequence will eventually emerge… or even a certain form of beauty.
Slowly, the mystery diminishes. The biggest engines seem to form a center around which the less brawny and more timid machines gravitate.

In the background, the youngest watch, half envious half mocking. They follow, trying to cling on to the rest of the gathering, while still maintaining a distance. They are the tail of this comet.
Everybody looks at everybody. Time seems suspended. Then this ballet stops.
They leave as they came. The beach is deserted once again. The sea has taken them back.