Closing dives

I seemed to have found new meaning to diving after every dive and here's no exception. We airheads are like fish - expatriates who'll never quite master the idiom, try as we might. I find myself with this silly prejudice: that water supports prettier life form than air. Maybe it's the bizarre color combinations, but the only things I've seen above the surface that compare are the fluorescent green wings of some dragonflies and the colors of one's children's eyes.

Everything on land suddenly seems too heavy, too cumbersome. Even humans look better underwater - our weight at equilibrium, our possibilities of motion multiplied, our hair not content to lie flat and still but instead swirling around our heads like prairie grass in a windstorm. Little bubbles adhere at random, like pearls embroidered to our skin, and every expiration of breath creates the image of a waterfall, running in reverse.