The tide is high, the water so calm and clear you'd be justified in wondering whether there was anything between you and the sand save for still tropical air. But then a lulling wave, not even a wave: a swell, a bulge, a slow moving ocean finger stretches out to brush some shells off this western shore. The evening light is soft thanks to a sun muffled both by having nearly finished its daily trek and by a band of clouds lazing low on the horizon. These tired rays curl up in the many dimples on the surface of the likewise sleepy Pacific resting within Houk's protective reef.
The last hours of daylight on Friday hold that special quality of a week come to a close. It's something in the air, highlighted by those waning beams of golden sun, punctuated by the last shouts of activity drifting over from the basketball court. An exhausted exclamation point following those last, contented words of the week's sentence, all covered by a thin but warm hued streak of a nearly-empty highlighter. This week it's accentuated by an ocean, on one of those rare circumstances, living up to its name.
Grimy, from having done prep work at the school for tomorrow - when Cos and I will nail up new security screens on the office windows, I wade out to start my shower. There's more satisfaction in the scrubbing tonight, having actual dirt and a little blood to get off my skin. The blood came from an old piece of trim that surprised me, popping off the window frame more eagerly than expected and introducing me to the nails that had held it up.
I stand, scan the horizon and decide to walk out to the breakers. Our coastal shelf stays shallow enough for the nearly fifty yards to the reef that I needn't leave my feet till then. The sun gently caresses my face and shoulders, and the water eases on by me, barely disturbing the tail of my thu (loin cloth wrap, for the uninitiated). Taking note of the sea grass, fine grained shell sand, funny white-with-black-spots sea cucumbers (make me think of little ocean dairy cows) and the not much else: a revelation. I feel it, poignant and potent. This is an evening I'll never relive, a space in time and a period of my life, a moment in the dream I've been living that will never be a part of my waking life again after I leave Micronesia in November.
Salty drips collect and then fall from the ends of my hair, land on my back, collect and then slide down into the big, capital 'c', Collective from whence they came. I have to squint as a sliver of the sun peeks out from in between two clouds. One deep breath and I dive in, hoping to rejoin those run-away drips. Hoping to be immersed in this dream moment as fully as possible.
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