Krill and Sea Gods

 

I face the low swells and try to breathe air, not the saltwater bubbling in my snorkel. I push against the waves and am mindful that the sea can push back harder. I face it, and in a few heartbeats am one with the krill, small and helpless in the vastness, ultimately sucked in and swallowed without a blink.

After a few dozen strokes, I turn and fly — the sea lifts me. Through the mask, I see the sand and rocks below, moving at a pace known by sea gods and my spirit soars.

Once I get closer to shore, I turn again. Back out towards the chopping and slapping, I try not to cough and splutter. Again, I am nothing, a dot under a microscope. I need to finish my count, each arm stroke is one, and one thousand is my final tally.

Back and forth I swim, between the krill and the sea gods until I’m woozy from the oscillating perspectives. I finish my tally on the gods’ side, navigate through the closer rocks and sea urchins and stagger out.

For a few minutes, I wonder where my saltwater world went, and why the air feels so thin.

The pebbles and towels, seagulls and people help me orientate myself, although I still feel like I lost something. I’ll be back to find it tomorrow.