We sail high above the wide salt-water canal, my boy and me, with a green and yellow chute billowing behind us that propels us to fly as high and free as a kite in a sea breeze.
A smattering of pale blue, semi-transparent circles below us rest as flimsy paper on the water’s surface. Innocent and gentle organic circles of rice paper whimsy. Confetti.
The steel links that connect our harness to the rope on the boat’s winch below, tense and chink.
‘What’s that?’ my boy asks.
‘It’s only the ropes tensing,’ I say as calmly as l can. ‘The boat’s turning us.’
The confetti begin to dissipate and we glide down closer and closer to the water. We bend knees and skim across its rippling surface, splashing as we pick up speed. A refreshing wakening!
Up again we sail, higher and higher and again, spot our floating confetti on the sea. We marvel at the sprinkling of dots that stretch beyond where our eyes can see.
But all too soon, we’re being winched back down towards the boat. And as we draw closer, the confetti grow larger and rounder, three-dimensional.
Closer still and we see that beneath those rounds grow thick, wobbly tenticles.