I hesitate to point my lens, thinking she might submerge her new-moon eyes and disappear into the deep. But she stays, looking back at me as I look at her, granting me a moment as she pierces the divide between brine and breath.
She is sensory magic, with whiskers so sensitive they send signs of fish to her seal brain. She’ll plunge hundreds feet, quelling her heart to a slow drum. Her sight and sound, muted on land, are super-seal, better than human, in her fin-footed world beyond the breakwater.