You arrive without remembering the walk, move through womb-like corridors while neon jellies pulse and peel downwards, tank-silent. Surrendered, suspended. Stringy rubber muscles trailing, translucent mushrooms splaying like slow-motion petals, glass bells parachuting in free fall.
Rays skim the gravel, white-bellied and black-flapped, gills blinking in unison—taking flight over domed archways. Water laps, lazy against the light, as silver-scaled fish glisten behind glass.
One day, this place will forget you.
Sharks span the length of tunnels, fins flicking, yellow-bellied turtles pull their black shells through fake oceans, spotted underbellies rippling at speed. Torpedoing seals barrel roll into the blue and disappear.
You stare into the rolling, milky eyes of a grouper, lips flapping against the dark gape of his mouth. When the time comes, he says, sink to the bottom of the ocean, press your belly against the floor, then listen for the tide.
Tiny glimmer: Describe a place you’ve visited in depth, using sensory detail. Focus on a single non-human element and listen closely. What might it be telling you?
See you next week.
Freshy fish swim in an ancient underwater forest to this write