Ebbs

The clumped bulbs and vines of the seaweed resembled a corpse as it floated near the edge of the swimming line. If you looked up and hadn’t spotted the kale colored imposter, you’d think you were swimming in foul waters.

The more you smell the salt on the air and see the distant shimmers in open water, you begin to understand how tales of mischievous creatures were first composed.

You don’t feel alone as you bob on the surface of the ocean— no words need to be spoken to let you know that invisible eyes track your every move. That your every moment sends a ripple outward signaling your position. You drift along the top like a wayward traveler— more in common with those they cling to dinghy’s than meaningful pilots.