My Spanish Turtle

Off the coast of Culebra in the Spanish Virgin Islands, I slide from the dinghy into the dim, blue scenery. I am at a place divers call “The Wall,” an uninterrupted expanse of coral that breaks the surface only to drop dramatically to a depth of 40 feet. The coral structures are gigantic, pristine. I cannot see an end to the reef. Dave and I stop swimming only when we are too cold to continue, leaving much of the reef unexplored. Heading back to the dinghy, I spy an endangered turtle. Not especially large, her shell is about 18 inches top to bottom. Despite the cold, I make her my pace car and for 20 minutes she and I circle coral clusters and pause for breaths of air at the surface. She sports a numbered tag on the trailing edge of her forward, portside fin. The tag makes me feel fortunate that she and I live in a world where some people nurture the whole of existence.