When we jumped we didn’t know how the colors would differentiate themselves or if everything else, everything around us: pines, water, rocks, and fish beneath would become a disjointed and thick and hazy messy blur. We didn’t know if the day would stay as it would or if it would shift, a moment suspended within the air, stuck between the blue sky and the current of the flowing water, into something else entirely. We jumped anyway.

We took claim in the fall and secretly between us hoped for smoothness in the surface break. Our view from the air was the glass-like ocean. Pristine. The world turned in circles as we fell. The sky and water met end over end, meshing together to create a palate of soft blue that welcomed us along with the shaking of the trees and the flapping of wind in our ears.

The break stopped the air and the crack opened up the new depth and splintered downward. Bubbles surrounded us. We beamed with smiles and protruded bubbles as the blue light swallowed us and as we clawed our way back upwards. The two world repositioned themselves as we surfaced and the trees whistled and the back and forth of the deep lull of the water still clamored sweetly in our ears and the water gently rocked us at our shoulders. I opened my eyes and the world was vibrant. The colors echoed and shimmered off the white glint from the water and the peripheral shine from the water in my eyes.