In the sea you will find every creature you could imagine. The most lovely of all is a mermaid. She is cunning, drawing fishermen to their deaths as she circles their boats.
I saw a mermaid once in the Sea of Japan, just before the Great Tsunami.
I was casting my net a moment before sunrise, at that magical time when the first sunlight sparkles on the cold, gray sea. Then you will see a tug of war played between the starlight and the dawn, like Tuscan lovers arguing in bed, drunk on wine and too lazy to care.
She was on her back, looking up to the heavens, her black hair floating gently, breasts and nipples laced with dark green seaweed. Her long tail hardly moved but gently held her in place.
The dark sea lapped against my boat and for a moment all the universe was forgotten.
I was a rude intruder in her reverie. A fool who darts from the bustling, rainy street into a gallery of fine oil paintings, now simply dripping and making a mess everywhere.
She opened her mouth and sang. A gentle note which rose sharply and then settled into a low, comforting tone. Three times she worshiped the sky and then there was silence.
I pulled gently on my net, brought it back silently into the boat and reached for my oars.
Her head whipped like a sail cracking in the wind as my oars creaked. Her green eyes blazed indignance. A sudden snarl, a sharp hiss and then she was gone, diving deep into the abyss.
I have never seen a mermaid since, but she will haunt me to my death.