Marine National Park
The tide is high. Your boat sets off from the jetty and you are moved across the saltwater that covers seventy percent of the planet. Your stars align, and in the crossing, you see a pod of dolphin’s surface for air. If you come during winter, above you spread a V of impossible length, several thousand migratory birds.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see something drop out of the sky, a kingfisher swooping down on breakfast. As you near the islands, you see a curious tree, with roots that stick out of the water, mangroves. Birds are wading among the roots, and more packed in the branches.
Later, as the water recedes, revealing a vibrant and unique, but fragile ecosystem, you step tenderly towards it, finding a veritable underwater forest with creatures of fantastic colors and patterns and textures that you used to want to draw as a child. As the tide turns, the beach floods with more birds than you’ve seen for months, feeding on the bodies of creatures left behind by the waters.
