afloat

almost as soon as we get out there the waves try to drown us.  they despise us. and our efforts to crawl around the headland like a bunch of australians escaping the sinking prison and the stinking crocodiles in the sorry moat and they lash and stuff the very ends of the water the tops of the waves down our throats.  and they lie about why.  that is the worst of it.  the waves roll and foam and they pitch and throw and we swing and always keep trying to keep from being missing and to keep course of course.  maybe that it is that the water envies the wind so much more fluid and so much more useful to the birds (except penguins, cormorants, loons, gooses, ducks, pelicans, ospereys, kingfishers, ibis, herns, terns) is why the medium is lacking a message less than in all instances menacing always.  spraying rainbows or black and gold under the moon or in the tinsel of december.  and the closest the water got to getting me was when they saw a channel cat and went after that and left me standing on the top of the spear pinning a big large mouth bass to the bottom of the river and the waves tossed into the snorkel and it was a miracle in the end.  the devout ask where the miracles are all these days and let them point at me swimming around some more.