I dreamt I was a fish.
Not just any fish, but a fish on a coral reef, swimming with my brightly colored friends. Together we made up a palette of blue, lavender, yellow, gold, orange, pink, green and silver scales, fins, tails and mouths. Our motions fluid. Our community hierarchy long established. Big fish eat little fish. Great white sharks down to the tiniest plankton and krill. Fastest fish wins the chase. Hiding places and ability to change color can save a life.
But something was different.
Something in the water.
Or lack of – on the water.
There were no nets to tangle or strangle us, or our warm-blooded mammal friends, the dolphins and sea lions. There were no hooks dangling from lines with bait. My friend once nibbled, and was gone, whipped to the surface, never to return. A different kind of predator.
Something was happening on the water.
No pleasure boats.
No tankers. No cruise lines.
I could see the blue sky and shimmering ripples of sunlight. No gooey oil sheen spewed from motors. No sinking puddles of dark black goo settling on the sea floor. No man-made gunk. No cast-off plastic bottles, paper plates, napkins, party balloons, straws, or discarded food. The sea was like a mirror on windless days. At night, I could see the stars, and the flickering light of the moon fingered across the reef and the sandy bottom. My friends and I frolicked and multiplied. We rolled with the tides and spun with the currents.
For a few months in 2020, in the time of COVID, the humans left us alone.
I dreamt I was a fish… and the ocean was amazing.
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