They were just diving. Jumping from the edge of the boat, they giggled and gurgled, collapsed, foaming, into the cooling sea. One of them essayed a clumsy somersault, another simply fell as if pushed. His arms pinwheeled for balance then he dropped like a cartoon character with whom gravity had caught up.
She stood by the rail, gripped the foam rubber edging with her toes and braced. She was not merely diving. She had plans. She was reaching out to something larger, out to the edge of sight. Beyond the horizon, out to where the Sun was dousing its evening heat in a haze of orange. She grabbed at the last of the light, arms outstretched, caught between worship and desire.
Her hands almost closed. She felt the soft static heat press them apart, saw caught between them the globe of the Sun. She bathed in its warmth, glowing through her. It radiated from her palms, where sat invisible the centre of the Solar System. For a precious second, maybe two, she hung in the air and everything swung about her.
Later that evening she sat, dazed, on the beach. The light of a bonfire prickled at her features. A man sat beside her, noted her darkened skin and glazed eyes. “Caught the Sun?” he asked.