They say it’s been the coldest October on record here in this part of America. Perhaps it has been—we’ve just accepted whatever weather comes as the price of living outside the tropics. It never occurred to us that freezing temperatures at night and mid-forty highs during the day might be out of the ordinary, and to be honest the chill hasn’t bothered us near as much as we thought it would—at least not yet. It’s warmed up some as the week has drawn to a close, but we know this is just a temporary reprieve before the onslaught of our first full winter in a dozen years. It’s been a busy week and I’m tired. I almost feel. . .yawn. . .as if I could fall asleep. . .right. . . now. . . .
The raindrops bounce off the surface of the water like a billion diamonds, the facets of each jewel sparkling in the setting sunlight. The sea is a like a warm blanket, pulled up to my neck; the sand beneath me a comfortable pillow. Several yards ahead of me, Nicole sits in the shallow ocean, her toes poking out of the water. To my right, Rhonda is crouched with her camera, trying to capture the moment and the memory. In hours, days, weeks, all three of us will be gone from this place. But right now, our thoughts are not in the unknown future or the warmly remembered days of tropic past—right now we are fully and completely in this precious moment.
It was just an ordinary tank swim, but it’s turned into something extraordinary, a memory of remarkable, unique beauty that will never be forgotten.
Approaching the tank from underwater
On the tank
French and Prokopetz
Sunset and rain's coming in. . .
Time to swim for shore. Time to say goodbye.
. . . .Oh! I'm sorry. I must have dozed off for a minute there. I had the nicest dream, about a place far far way and yet never far from my heart. . .But I'm back. I'm wide awake in America.