The wind Howling Ripping the white caps off skyward reaching waves - hurling them across my bow –slapping the side of my face “Hold on Fred!” I screamed, but the contrary wind outshouted me. “It’s cold.” He mumbled, almost lackadaisically. “Hold on Fred!” I screamed again. “Don’t give up!” “It’s cold.” He pouted. “I’m tired.” His pale clenched knuckles relaxed a bit. No color returned to the skin. “Don’t you let go!” I shouted. But he let go. My kayak, un-burdened, leaped away. Waves jumped in-between us. “It’s O.K.” he said, “I’m tired.” He disappeared behind a swell, popped up once or twice like a shooting gallery duck, then feebly waved goodbye. “We’ve got to get Fred!” I screamed for Troy, but turned in time to see a flash of red beneath the emerald surface, his Pungo turned submarine, and Troy invisible. Suddenly a sucker punch from a hydraulic fist, I go down easy into the quiet cold water and gasp for breath where there is no air. An angel, frightening in aspect, led me to an alien shore.