At the brink of twilight, I stood alone on the edge of the tall, misty cliff, December-gray skirts undulating in the wind, my ragged cardigan draped around my hollow, scale-speckled shoulders.  Rushing wind filled my eardrums, reverberating within my skull and making my head shake. 

I took a deep breath, and jumped.

Falling through the waves was like falling in love: breathtaking, exhilarating, all-consuming.  I trembled as the fitful waters first hit my skin, stinging like ice, burning like hot wax.  For a single, tense moment, I saw only white, the bright green explosion of the splash clouding my eyes.  And then, the world came back into view.

I saw sea-weathered stones, forests of waving kelp, pairs of snowy seals dancing in the sun and darting between the shadows.  Schools of silver-blue fish moved around me like cloth in the wind; glorious life seemed to burst from every painted rock, folding leaf, and stir of sand. The nostalgic salty kiss of ocean water on my lips filled my chest with delight as I swam, chasing the currents stirring around me.

I sighed, bubbles escaping my nose in a steady stream to the surface. As I continued to dive, formerly sealed shut gills opening on the sides of my neck, one thought rang true:

the water and my blood were the same.