In And Out

When we’re at the beach, my camera likes to point its lens at humans the moment they come out of the water. Some take advantage of a wave to heft them onto the sand; others come running out of it and onto the beach as if there was no difference between treading water and leaving footprints in the sand; still others look surprised or slightly disappointed when they climb onto the beach and realize how their body suddenly increases in weight.
My camera has never seen me come out of the water. When I’m floating, diving or jumping waves, it always lies hidden in a bag or under some towels. It knows I love being in the water because it always takes a long time for me to come back and pick it up again. It doesn’t know how wonderful that feeling is of surrendering oneself to the rhythms and movements of the sea, of being carried by the water, of lying on one’s back and breathing out slowly until the face submerges and disappears under the surface.