Eyes on

Sometimes you feel the smell first. Top note: a lot of freshly chopped cucumbers, base note: fish oil. And if you slowly circle the place, it just might to let you see it.

Sometimes you turn the corner and there it is: lying on a low stone, basking in the Novembrian drizzle, clapping itself on the stomach. You stare at each other for a moment, equally surprised by the encounter. You are exited as a child, your counterpart has “darn inconvenience” written all over its face. Then the elements draw your vessel away.

But sometimes you just feel the presence. Unexplainable. No smell, no sound, just presence. As if someone is staring at you. You turn around and yes, it is staring at you.

And it happens – you are tired, frozen and happy with the day, shoveling water all you can ‘coz the sun is setting and the marina called and inquired: “where are you?” – that it suddenly emerges in the front of your kayak and looks at you from five meters distance for long enough for you to take off the gloves, fish up the mobile from presumably waterproof bag and turn the camera on. At that point, it will close its finely outlined nostrils and large gorgeous eyes and submerge, no splash, no sound. Did it really happen?

Saw as well a sea-gull catching and carrying away a crustacean. Imagine: to experience flying before your death. If only everybody was that lucky!

When driving home had the newly born crescent in the right corner of my windscreen, thin and bright, for 20 minutes. Then the road turned.