In the Middle of the Night

Last night I did something I rarely do. I got up in the middle of the night to make a meal. To do that meant getting the flashlight and going down the long path through the mangroves to get to the porch to get to the fridge to get to the food that I wanted to eat. Like that. Because I'm not together enough yet to have my cooler thing going on. And that's okay. 

Outside on the deck, I realized the tide was still full moon high. So high that I only felt safe sitting down on the deck and slipping onto the dock. The boards of the path were almost even with the water but my feet weren't getting wet. The flashlight with its bright LED lights kept me where I needed to be, and I could also see into the water. There, what was that? Inches from my foot. That movement, that...puffer fish, swimming in a tight circle, in bare inches of water? The brain doesn't compute these things sometimes. 

Until I saw the moray eel, mouth wide open and closing in. The puffer wasn't swimming, he was being swirled in the eddy of the moray, who apparently also was feeling a bit peckish for a midnight snack. 

Just in case you've never been near an open-mouthed moray eel inches from your foot
in the middle of the night? It FEELS like this for about a second.
Then the wonder strikes.
Because above is a giant moray and it wasn't really like this at all.
Except to the puffer fish, it was pretty much like this. Yeah.

The light disturbed them, breaking up the dance. Zooming away in different directions it was suddenly still again and I made my way to where I was originally going to do what I originally set out to do. But my mind was far from practicals, it was caught up in the sort of swampy ethereal world we live in, where things are going on all of the time while we sleep or dream or work or play, things we have no idea about. Moments uncaptured by pixels, this one left to roam around in my brain as a solitary night wonder. 

In the middle of the night. 

Have a tell your tale Tuesday. Do something transformative.