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Reefdog: The Oceania Duet, Book 1
Reefdog is an adventure of Oceania and the race between nature and humanity. Ravi Rockulz, dive leader, grows weary, pushing forty, still lugging tanks. He has friends and many acquaintances, tourists on the 7-day cycle. He seeks change but meets a woman who changes his perspective on life adrift.
This excerpt is early, on arrival down
Hawaii excels in fantasy for sale and regret. Commerce trumps culture, and money rules. Decimation and growth are made to glisten in magazines and fetch top dollar. Or lower dollar in group sales. Scenic vistas and terrific cleavage prove value either way, and the money rolls in on jobs, affordability and growth.
French Polynesia is merely hot, with so much less and more. Growth is green; vines creep amid species not going extinct, no landscaping required. Bird chatter and insect hum blend, as the bus door shuts on a man delivered to the country road of his dreams. The smoke recedes, and so begins the now here. He listens in a meditation of minutes or years and walks up the drive. Gears shift and fade.
They call it Hawaii fifty years ago, though the road from the ferry dock was foul with excavation, heavy equipment and reef destruction. A woman one seat up pointed at the clubhouse, restaurant and golf course, under construction, the first in French Poly after years of struggle, till the yen prevailed.
Japanese engineers with clipboards sought to preserve their honor and nothing but. Ah, well, fifty years might be time to get through this life of madness.
The house up the drive is asleep, though a child scurries out with a key, pointing to the bungalow at the top, advising that he come down later to sign and pay. “ Après midi ,” she calls over her shoulder, running back inside.
The top bungalow is plywood nailed to studs with big screen windows, all slumped in stillness that seeps into senses.
Thick air collects in droplets and rolls, forehead to chin, where it drips or runs to the neck and down the chest till the shirt sticks, and so do the pants. Fronds rub. Bugs pop knuckles. Birds chirp. Waves break across the road. A ceiling fan groans.
He drifts for an hour and wakes up wet, not so tired.
This excerpt is early, on arrival down
Hawaii excels in fantasy for sale and regret. Commerce trumps culture, and money rules. Decimation and growth are made to glisten in magazines and fetch top dollar. Or lower dollar in group sales. Scenic vistas and terrific cleavage prove value either way, and the money rolls in on jobs, affordability and growth.
French Polynesia is merely hot, with so much less and more. Growth is green; vines creep amid species not going extinct, no landscaping required. Bird chatter and insect hum blend, as the bus door shuts on a man delivered to the country road of his dreams. The smoke recedes, and so begins the now here. He listens in a meditation of minutes or years and walks up the drive. Gears shift and fade.
They call it Hawaii fifty years ago, though the road from the ferry dock was foul with excavation, heavy equipment and reef destruction. A woman one seat up pointed at the clubhouse, restaurant and golf course, under construction, the first in French Poly after years of struggle, till the yen prevailed.
Japanese engineers with clipboards sought to preserve their honor and nothing but. Ah, well, fifty years might be time to get through this life of madness.
The house up the drive is asleep, though a child scurries out with a key, pointing to the bungalow at the top, advising that he come down later to sign and pay. “ Après midi ,” she calls over her shoulder, running back inside.
The top bungalow is plywood nailed to studs with big screen windows, all slumped in stillness that seeps into senses.
Thick air collects in droplets and rolls, forehead to chin, where it drips or runs to the neck and down the chest till the shirt sticks, and so do the pants. Fronds rub. Bugs pop knuckles. Birds chirp. Waves break across the road. A ceiling fan groans.
He drifts for an hour and wakes up wet, not so tired.
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