The Reef

Halfway to the small cay. We each kept one hand on the rope, our fins reaching far behind gently waving from our ankles like flags, as our well-loved sunfish floated along with us like a faithful labrador. Our space was managed by colorful reef fish, collections of grazing clown and parrot fish, swarms of angelfish, and an occasional curious, hovering barracuda. We had no sense of time or temperature, no trepidation, no thought to "reapply." We floated with purpose, searching and celebrating each discovery. We handled the revered urchins, comfortable with the way their spiky spindles moved in harmony seeking a surface to brush and escape back home to the glassy blue water. We took turns diving down, gently watching the majestic starfish move, its pace barely discernible, its feet leaving hundreds of tiny freckles in the sand on the ocean floor. The solemnity was broken occasionally by a burst of ceremonious joy when the familiar mound that hid the king or queen of the shell world was gently raised to marvel at the glow of a bright pink and orange ripply conch.

Floating face down, the afternoon would pass, with side glances through our sometimes foggy, sometimes leaky masks, to exchange a smile and shared disbelief at our playground.