Magic
The chills run up and down my body. I want to shout so everyone can see what I’m experiencing. To share in the magic. But I’m not sure I want to say a word. I could keep it as my secret.
The air explodes up as they surface briefly only to dive down again, mouths open and then shutting; baleen sifting out whatever they don’t want to eat.
The exclamations of joy and excitement escape my lips. The people all around me are sharing their “look!” and “whales!” in a cacaphony of languages.
There are many of them. Spray from their spouts mist the air. Small dorsal fins and backs periodically sneak out of the water. A couple of tails flick out before gliding smoothly back in the water.

Photo by Abbe’s Road, July 16, 2017, in San Francisco
There’s no way for the average viewer to know how many whales there are or how large they are. They give us only a peak at their size. They are teasing us with bits of their monstrous bodies.

Photo by Abbe’s Road, July 16, 2017, in San Francisco
The first time I heard humpback whales and knew they were nearby, I cried gently. I couldn’t tell you why. It just felt so beautiful and important to me that I was allowed to be close, to catch a glimpse, to listen to their songs.
I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on whale-watching boat trips. Never have I seen so many or for such a long amount of time as I did the other day, sitting by the shore so close to them but in different worlds. I wanted to sit there all day.
The alarm rang, interrupting my reverie. The pre-paid parking meter expired. It was time to go. You don’t want to test SF meter maids.
I was OK with leaving, silently thanking them for allowing me to watch them for a time.
Whales are magical, I whispered to my son one day when we were again talking about whales. We tend to do that.
Why? he pushed back.
Because they are. Magic has no explanation.
I love it. Felt like I was right there with you
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