I work on the airplane, but this is better than flying. Especially today. I slip between the waves and the very atmosphere, now thick and green, lifts me up. I hover above the turtles, roll among them, dive. Under the dancing shadows of the great round shells, I look up; the sun behind them sparkles impossibly close, riding the waves just like the blondies on their longboards up the beach. I hear wet, the occasional wave, but little else. No cacophony, certainly no cries, here where there are no skyscrapers, and, in any case, no airplanes to fly through them.