The rhythmic motion of the paddle became an extension of my arms.
Dip, stroke, glide. Repeat.
The kayak skimmed by the alien-like mangroves that marched along the water’s edge. Barnacles encrusted their trunks and bizarre roots shot up, like half-submerged asparagus stalks. A snowy egret watched me from the branches, wary and poised to take flight.
A silvery torpedo arced out of the water and flopped back down, close enough ripples lapped the boat. No one really knows why mullet jump. A second fish launched itself, skipping across the water like a stone. It looked fun. Perhaps that’s all there was to it.
I rested the paddle across my lap, content to watch the fish leap. After a long winter up north, the hot sun was a luxury on bare shoulders. I needed to soak it all in, too aware that tomorrow would take me back to another month of ice and mittens.
The kayak bobbed on gentle swells, drawing the attention of a curious pelican. With a yellow crest and startling blue eyes, he reminded me of a tow-headed boy I knew in college. Like the boy, the bird lost interest when he realized I had nothing for him. He flew off to beg handouts from the fishermen on the pier, dwindling to a dark freckle on robin’s egg blue sky.
Alone again, I glanced around, surprised at how far from shore I’d drifted. The current wasn’t strong, but enough to draw me into the deep channel.
Something moved below.
I froze, paddle hovering midair.
An enormous inky shadow slid beneath the boat, and suddenly six feet of orange plastic felt ridiculously small. Knuckles whitened around the paddle’s aluminum shaft.
The water’s surface rippled, and a long gray nose poked out of the water to my right, close enough to touch. A dolphin fixed its dark eye on me, bright and curious. We stared at one another for a fragment of a silent, still eternity.
A blast of cold seawater drenched me when a second bottlenose surfaced to my left and cleared its blowhole. I squealed as the kayak rocked. The first dolphin opened its mouth and chattered. It sounded like laughter.
For a few minutes, the pair frolicked around the boat, circling the bow, swimming beneath, and surfacing on the other side. They chirruped and whistled at me, then flashed toothy grins before diving again. Though they dwarfed the kayak, I felt at ease. My new friends radiated joy and playfulness.
The thrum of a motor made me look up. A fishing boat cruised towards us. By the time I cleared the boat’s wake, the dolphins had disappeared. I made my goodbyes to the quiet bay and paddled back to shore, grateful for the moment I’d take home with me. The sunburn on my cheeks would fade, but the memories I’d save.
Author's Note:
I have a high-profile career as a people leader in a fast-paced technology company, so self-care usually means solitude, often solo hiking or kayaking. The ocean is my happy place and my favorite way to find perspective is to sit on a deserted beach at night. There’s a feeling, when unable to pinpoint the horizon in the dark, that the vastness of sea and sky is infinite. Sitting there with only starlight on water, heartbeat and surf falling in rhythm, I can shut off a busy brain and just exist as part of a living, breathing universe.
MM Schreier is a classically trained vocalist who took up writing as therapy for a mid-life crisis. Mainstream or speculative, favorite stories are rich in beautiful language and sensory details. Neither exclusively right- or left-brained, in addition to creative pursuits Schreier works in robotics and tutors STEM to at-risk youth.
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