Peace
Peace
The sky is filled with white cirrus clouds this morning, just light white, allowing the thin layer of blue to pass through and turning the calm water
to a slick, almost oily shimmering silver.
Looking across the south end of Bahia de Los Angeles, the southernmost point, Punta Roja and the nearby islands, the two Gemelitos, little gems,
Cabesa de Cavallo, Horse?s Head, La Ventana, the Window, and others are darkly silhouetted against the lighted water. Almost an illusion.
We slept a deep sleep until almost eight, and then woke to the sun?s rays climbing through the thatched patches we have placed over our east- and
south-facing windows of the room where we sleep. It was dead calm; no sounds of water, or birds, or wind.
I got out of bed, dressed and stood on the balcony overlooking the sea and watched as three kayaks slipped silently through the water heading north.
The first sounds of the day were from the voices of the people in the kayaks. It way surprising to hear them through the distance and across the
varied surfaces of land and then water. But I could understand their conversation even at a distance of a half-mile. They were looking for whale
sharks.
These huge and yet tranquil sea beasts, whale sharks, are becoming an attraction here, bringing researchers and tourists to the bay. For many years
there has been no recognized etiquette, no protocol, to define the interaction between us two beasts, man and whale shark. The sharks are friendly
and have baleens rather than teeth and live by consuming small crustaceans and fishes. They must consume quite a few of these, as they can grow up to
60 feet in length. They are friendly and often will approach a swimmer in an unthreatening manner just to inspect you. They almost encourage you to
touch them. As humans we feel a need to touch. Touch is one of our five perceived senses and we feel we need to use as many as possible when we can.
The kayakers continue northward toward the village. Their conversation fades. My mind is obliged, in search of constant noise, to return to the
magnificence of morning, later now. A small breeze is beginning to stir the shore; gulls are cawking, crows croaking, pelicans silently skimming the
surface. A number of yards off shore there are dark patches in the water amongst the shimmering silver where bait is working to avoid some unknown
threat.
Life, and death, continue.
Morning has broken.
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