Right here, a blacktip reef shark sneaks up on the picnic, its fin cutting through a school of glittering fish. The fish, not paying a bit of attention to the shark, repeatedly nibble at a piece of cucumber, only to discover each time that they don't actually like cucumber. Meanwhile, from a wall of approaching storm, the wind howls, bending palms and kicking coconuts loose like hailstones on steroids. They leave craters when they hit the sand and seem almost wistful that they missed someone's head. And right before we load into the boat, fleeing fat, warm raindrops, I notice how some of the clouds are sticky. Traditionally, that told a lot of people exactly where they were, but it's not doing a thing for me.