Eyes of the Seal

It is a good place for writing. Bright and airy. The windows look over the channel. The water. The mystery of it. Water accepts everything. Boats, birds, trash, fish, runoff and thrown rocks, all benefit from it. Water asks for nothing in return. Just to serve. Today, ruffled lace dress with strong currents below. Other times, mirror smooth and reflective. Turbulent when pushed by storms. It demands nothing of the world. We've learned to respect water for this reason. It's acceptance is like the openness of a grave. Saint or sinner alike are held close by the grave; unquestioned, unjudged. As a lover, water calls us to join; to blur distinctions. We can flirt, dance and even hold close but for those not born of it, her children, this love can be deadly.
A seal surfaces. From the depths a round face with three black dots. Nose and two teary, world wise eyes. Slowly the seal turns my way. For a long moment our eyes lock together. My heart jumps in unknowable recognition.Those eyes, though jet black are soft and receptive. Of the water, like the water. Two deep black obsidian gazing globes, sent by the deep. My demanding, analytical focus softened by that accepting child-wise gaze. The water takes those eyes back into the deep. Though I breathlessly search for a returning, it is not until evening that another seal sees me. I like to think it the same as the one that morning. A lover's rendevous, at days' end.