SHARK REEF

Duane cracks the top from the hairspray can with a rock in the parking lot. This is somewhat dangerous- CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE -so Morris and David sit a safe distance away. But Duane has done this many times,

If you had peered through the front window on a recent summer evening, you’d have seen the day’s last light filtering onto the living room rug, and a lamp burning on a table in the near corner. Beside it, an elderly man, still

The Lady of the Lake glides to the dock as Captain Wilsey steers the boat’s white body, trimmed in crisp blue, within inches of the pilings. The aluminum gangplank squeaks and creaks into place, bridging the boat deck to the landing as The Lady’s passengers tromp across its grated metal in waffle-soled hiking boots.

The water is warm, I lie. Will feel warm. In a minute. Another step in. Skin stutters to adjust. Counting. One, two, three, four. Another step. Water to my chest. Arms out of the water. Ridiculous. Water temp is 84. Not cold. Hands in the water. Adjusting. Water to arm pits. Get it over with. One, two, three, four. Dunk.

Every fall, along about November, when winds begin to buffet my brain and scatter its leaves like gold shimmer, I make a trip off-island after long absence from the mainland and buy something stupid. Last year, it was a $36 spatula;