On A Kayak

On A Kayak

Copyright 2014 Matt Cairone

All Rights Reserved

I am floating in a kayak. Small swells rock me, and the soft breeze massages my face. The sun is reaching its peak. I am in a lagoon. I can see people on the beach and the resort buildings and the flags and the water fountains and the beach craft and the toys.  

I head out, away from the lagoon. I round the bend of rocks that forms the breakwater; I am alone.

I look to the shore and see strong trees waving in the wind, black rocks from lava that melted and froze there I don’t know how many years ago, and far off a cloud blanketed, dead volcanic mountain. My arms feel strong and my core pumps power into each stroke, with which I am accelerating in peace. I stop paddling and drift with the tide and the swells and the breeze. The water is quiet, and the breeze is just a whisper.

I lean back and close my eyes, drinking in the moment.

A barracuda, chasing lunch, leaps out of the water and over the bow of the kayak. Life is going on here, thank you very much. There is no escape, no matter where you go or how hard you imagine.

I see a large, dark mass hovering near the surface. I paddle toward it and it takes shape: a beautiful, graceful, gigantic sea turtle. In the water, this animal is fluid, adroit, formidable. Out of water, it is lumbering, slow and clumsy. 

A large eye, just above the surface, spies me, and all of a sudden, he (or she) is gone.