Beavertail

Dreamed last night that I had put on an old-school beavertail wetsuit with twist grommets rather than velcro, like the one my dad used when I was a kid — before they started laminating the neoprene with nylon, and suits were rubbery-slick inside and out. Then a weight belt and booties, and I descended into shallow water (8 or 10 feet) beneath a pier. No flippers, no tank. Mask, no snorkel. The water was clear, and sunlight shone through as if it were air. Bright under water, not bluish, all the colors were vivid. Holding my breath, walked along the ocean floor until I found a dead fish — a 30 lb. snapper — and dug three fingers into the gills. Hauled it back to shore to have it mounted on a wooden plaque. We (whoever “we” were) intended to hang it on the wall of a seaside bistro we were building. The whole thing had the feeling of being on some kind of important mission, a sense of urgency.