We awaken on the water, an immigrant in our own world, rocking to the rhythm of a vibrant, powerful force. We walk through the galley and up onto the deck. Good morning, world. Greet every tiny miracle in the landscape of life around us.
We pull on our fins, imitating fish, our goggles and snorkels. We softly splash into the water.
I listen to the crystal silence, smiling at the occasional snap of a barnacle, reaching my ears through the light-soaked waves. Every time I bob my head above the ripples, Mile High Dream is farther away. Beneath me, anenames, fish, sea stars, corals - everything coexists.
Out of the corner of my eye - a fin. I glance closer. I small turtle, only a bit larger than a dinner plate, glides towards me. My eyes drink in everything, the graceful head, color-splashed shell, the missing back flipper. The creature is calm, swimming near me, around me. I follow in lazy swoops. We cruise in unison over coral. We drift through schools of fish. A smile is spreading over my face, so wide my mask begins to leak. I surface, releasing the excess water. I feel only a peaceful joy. I've swum far from the boat - almost too far, perfectly content to follow this turtle into the open ocean. Duck under, just once more. I obey, dawn rays of sunshine filtering around me, glinting off of the turtle's fading flipper. I feel as if I exist only in the imagination, but this dream is played out before my eyes.

I climb onto the boat once again, out of breath and out of words. I simply place myself at the bow of the boat and sit, swaying with the sea, watching the sun peak over the treed cliffs on shore and illuminating the water. I'm riding a mile high wave of calm excitement.