Homecoming
Homecoming Podcast
The Water Had Light In It
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The Water Had Light In It

Holbox, Mexico
2

Happy Monday! To start off the week, I share with you a reading of a short story entitled, The Water Had Light In It, about a trip I took this past September to Holbox, Mexico, which is a small island two hours north of Cancun. I took a plane, a two hour bus ride, a ferry and a golf cart to get to my final destination.

This story is about an evening excursion I took to swim with “bio-luminescence”, a type of microscopic bacteria which appears in saltwater and upon stimulation, glows in the dark evening waters. (Google it to see the beautiful images!)

The Water Had Light In It

The coco cart has three wheels and a roof made of dry palm leaves. The man calling out, “Cocos Frios!” rolls it across the soft powdery white. The ocean has no waves today, and I can’t swim in it’s perfectly warm water because the sun is ruthless and yesterday burnt my skin hot, bright pink. So instead, I laze in my room, pump the AC and listen to the rustling of palm leaves. My skin is hot and pink and burns pressed against the sheets.

Last night, the turquoise water turned to liquid charcoal when the sun went down, and melted into the charcoal grey sky at the horizon. We waded the long stretch of shallow water into the dark, and for a moment, I had to remind myself that this was indeed real life. Our guides were Juan, who was dark and muscular and wore dreadlocks down to his waist, and his fluffy, white dog, who glowed against the charcoal grey, and once a few meters into the water, jumped onto the kayak. The rest of us followed.

Juan sat in the front, I sat in the back, and the fluffy pup stood like a guardian behind me. The two of them belonged there like they had always been there, gliding on the liquid charcoal as if they would forever.


I slid into the dark water, laid on my back and watched the stars. There were a lot, but also not that many. Like freckles in the sky or like someone poked holes on the veil.


I slid into the dark water, laid on my back and watched the stars. There were a lot, but also not that many. Like freckles in the sky or like someone poked holes on the veil. When I closed my eyes, I saw fins of sharks and their faces appearing from out of the dark. I prayed it was only my imagination and in real life, they never came. And sparkles came off my hands when they moved through the water.

It was light. The water had light in it.

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Homecoming
Homecoming Podcast
Homecoming is a newsletter of short essays and poems, exploring the meaning of home through a journey across America.
Homecoming is a cry for a world in the midst of a meaning crisis. In a time when identity is being fought for by advertisers and campaigners; when we’ve traded in family and place-based community and the tech that’s supposed to connect us only makes us more disconnected; when God has been discarded and what’s put in place simply cannot hold, it can be hard to know what's real and true. What does it really mean to be home? And what does it take to find it?
These essays may not read in chronological order. Some names, dates & places have been changed from the otherwise non-fictional stories.
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Emily Clibourn