Tranquility
                                +++++++++++


It was the last thing anyone expects.  I had rounded the corner on my
motorcycle at fifty miles an hour.  Unfortunately, so did the car coming
from the opposite direction.  I learned later that the collision had sent
me flying a hundred and seventy feet.  My legs, hips and internal organs -
just about every piece of my body - had been crushed.  Doctors said I
would never walk again.  Let me tell you, there are few more sobering
words in life than that.  Now the question was: What was I going to do?
With little else to do over the course of my recovery, I began to examine
my life.  A friend suggested I try boating.  Right, I thought.  As if that
was going to make a difference!  But my friend insisted.  And, yes, the
spring-fed rivers around my home in Florida were beautiful this time of
year.  The channels were fringed with Sabal palms, live oaks and southern
magnolia.  I was skeptical, but maybe he was right.  Maybe I could spend
some quiet time on the river and perhaps even find the answers to some of
my questions about life.

After I was discharged and feeling a little better, I bought a kayak and
volunteered my time with a local organization to teach visitors about the
endangered manatees that inhabited the rivers.  Every day, I would paddle
through the river with my dog Sky, a two-year-old red chow, perched at the
front of the kayak.  Pretty soon I was enjoying the sounds of nature and
talking to boaters about rules regarding manatees.

The work was comforting and relaxing, but I still couldn't escape the
feeling that something was missing.  Then one day while I was doing a
manatee count for a local research group, I saw a tiny, wrinkled nose poke
out of the river.  A baby manatee, less than two weeks old, was swimming
with its mother close behind.  Sky's ears shot up.  As I paddled toward
the manatee family, Sky moved to the front of the kayak, her black tongue
hanging to the side.  This was her first experience with a baby manatee,
and I figured she probably wanted to get a close look.  The water began to
bubble.  Sky barked.  She wanted to know exactly what this thing was.  It
probably looked too small to be a manatee.  For all she knew, it was some
chubby, little alligator.  When the baby manatee finally came up, it
sprayed foam all over Sky, who, for the first time in her life, looked too
shocked to bark.  But Sky was nothing if not a trooper.  She regained her
composure, leaned in again and balanced carefully until she and the baby
manatee were touching noses and greeting each other like visitors from
different worlds.  With the mother close at hand, I reached down and
scratched the little manatee.  I scratched and scratched.  The manatee
couldn't seem to get enough.  She was in absolute manatee heaven.

All that winter, Sky and I took the kayak out on the river.  Pretty soon
Sky and the baby manatee were greeting each other like old friends. That's
when I first noticed the change.  My whole outlook began to shift.  I had
been undergoing physical therapy all this time, and slowly, but surely, I
regained full use of my legs.  Eventually, I could even walk without a
cane.

There was something special about those days on the water. I think I was
inspired by the affinity for life all these creatures had, even the baby
manatee.  She had a tranquility that I'd never seen before.  She just
moved around with the sure and certain knowledge that things were okay.
Being out there with them day after day, I began to feel like that, too.
Eventually, I became certain about life again and gained the understanding
that, no matter how bad things got, life would take care of itself.  And
that feeling has never gone away.

Paul Dragon