As far south as I've ever swum

The horizon nearly glows with intense aquamarine. A small plane flies overhead, its motor gargling mechanically against the sound of small wavelets washing up clumps of salt-crystalizes seaweed and paled chunks of coral reef. A bird with a bright red spot next to his beak flaps by overhead. Anita and my Tetis are asleep, one on each of my sides. The delicious smoke of someone barbecuing in a stand of palmtrees is a few steps away. Little boys yell at each other in Spanish, music ribes across from cars in the parking lot, sea gulls call. Tetis had said this is paradise. But I squint across shades of green and blue in the ocean at the beautiful horizon. No one can cut white wakes in that bright threat. Tantalizing. Remembered dreams and well-founded imaginings. A beautiful paradise future. And my mother calls from across the sharp sand, intricate coral ground across millenia, and she tells me there's a Cuban pastry half-eaten in the car. The sun is warm and, on the edge of my hearing, palm fronds rustle.