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110 scallOpinG Did we enjoy that day? You indulged me. Hundreds of fiddlers scuttled collectively as I forced the kayak into the bay, steadied it for you to take first seat. Lord, that August was hostile, ferocious, even the spray hot as I paddled us out among strange flora, past horseshoe crab, primordial, armored, a wide dark plate. Into thicker water. I dropped our diving flag and flopped starboard. Snorkel and fins, alien dream undulating inches away. You didn’t want it, sat bobbing at anchor, reading, burning. Below the surface, your hesitance and worry—rowed too far, landscape indistinguishable, how would we navigate against tide?—disturbed the creature a husband had morphed to, its aqueous world. No legal license, the creature brought up clawfuls of clamping shells as offering, forced stiff hinges, ate briny bodies for your amusement. You weren’t amused. I descended for more, a few, but the fun was over. Nothing quite works, hope sinks, we both knew that. 111 Still—our rented cabin awaited, private strip of peninsula. Cool bath and drinks, the pier’s gangly congregation of pelicans that reliably pleased. The more or less promise of evening. Salty with sweat, sea, smallness, face and neck crepuscular red, I muscled us to shore by the clear division between cypress, no problem at all. ...

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