It’s August, the water on Buzzard Bay so translucent it feels like I’m lying on a pane of glass. Trying not to splash, I roll over on my back just as a sailfish flies directly over me, fins spread, like a jeweled aquatic hurdler. The diamond shards of his watery wake create a rainbow of refracted colors through my half closed eyelids and I turn over again, trying to follow the quicksilver flash as he re-enters the water. He’s gone, like an apparition. All I see are the shadows of waves rippling on the sea floor thirty feet below.