Cuttlefish

Off the coast of Ambergris Caye, 1976

Lazy trade winds blowing warmly

The sun playing tag with the clouds

Gone are the brutal 12-foot swells of the open water

The endless stands of mangroves have departed as well

Both are replaced by the crystalline water of a sheltered cove

The quiet water is shallow, it is so clear

A window into a fluid condition

Anchored in the distance

Off to her left, the boat bobs slightly

She is floating atop the surface

Snorkeling, biding her time

No rush

While the divers are off seeking adventure

She is content to drift along with the gentle current

Watching the world below

Hermit crabs scuttling

Anemones, urchins, conchs

Schools of tiny fish darting about

In a hurry to get to nowhere in particular

Her lids becoming heavy in the calm

The stillness clouding her eyes as she drifts

Then a slight movement to the left snaps her back

A ripple? A flutter?

Seven shapes, so sheer they are barely there

Swimming in place like delicate, luminous hovercraft

Narrowing her eyes, bringing them into focus

She sees the cuttlefish with their electrifying strands of light

How they pulsate in random patterns within each tiny form

She is fascinated by the giant golden eyes staring, without emotion, in her direction

The sun has moved into view again

A ray of sunlight pierces the water igniting the shapes into ingots of gold

Flecks of blue, green and red explode like sub-cosmic moons in an array

Putting on a beautiful aqua-borealis display

Suddenly a black grouper swipes through the background

Breaking the reverie

The forms are darkened

The delicate shapes blend and all but disappear

Ephemeral and transparent

The cuttlefish are now absent

Today she is reminded

That so often people don’t say what they mean

Or mean what they say

Transparency is reserved for the cuttlefish