Waterlight

I am so utterly grateful for the sea that’s right here, a block away from my house, the water temperature varying delightful degrees between refreshing and invigorating, and I have submerged myself in it almost every day.
Sometimes my mundane thoughts cling to me as I wade through the shallows, but as I dive under my first wave I slip head-first out of the daily garment of emotio-ruminatio muck as the water rinses it off, washing over the top of my head, down my face and off past my toes.
I open my eyes to see the water darken as the bulk of the wave crashes over above me, then lighten again as I come up through the white froth of the underbubbles. For a brief magic moment the water-fragmented colours of the sun and clouds and sky show through a thin film of water before I resurface into the air.
Submerging again I feel the tangible surrounding support of seawater, safely embraced in this amorphous substance that occupies the space between earth and air, between the solid and the insubstantial. My body relaxed, drifting first forward then slowly back as the wavelets wash over, my fingertips reaching down to be lightly stroked by the softly smooth ripples of the sand before coming up through the layers of waterlight for my next breath of air.
And then I do it all over again. And again. And again...