Through my Goggles

Underwater is a green and golden world. Quiet but for the muted sound of a motor boat cruising the channel between the mainland and the inner islands.

Fat-bodied fish flick into the shadows. Water weeds wave in the currents. Clams trace wandering paths in the sand.

Stories team in the depths as well.

A big old wood and iron anchor makes me stop, hold my breath, and wonder at the storm that separated it from its ship. Rough-sawn trees, escapees from a long-ago log boom, tease with tales of husky lumberjacks working through the winter.

This year, I observed something new in my daily swim across the bay. I’m not quite sure what to call it/them.

On sunny days, as I stroke through the water, concentric rings fan out from my movements to stripe whatever lies beneath me with bright bars of sunlight. Every stroke I make sprays more rings over the sand and rocks. Some rings overlap to form diamonds. My own figure is diminished, so it appears the rings just happen. It’s the most fascinating thing. Totally blanks the effort of swimming.

Sure, some scientific type would give my sun rings a fancy name and a prosaic explanation involving the refraction of light.

I’d rather call the phenomenon sun shadows.

Have you ever noticed some natural occurrence and created a fanciful name?

© Joan Leacott 2012
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