The dolphin curved and bounded with great joy within the confines of its blue home – a generous playground. It billowed like a ship through the maritime air with a prow that rode the winds with a smiling, salty grace. It mocked and teased the still, morning air which expanded into a pelagic horizon cursive with waves: rolling and breaking at its bidding.
Air currents rubbed against the dolphin’s metallic skin with the insistency of the purring sea. Sparrows and mockingbirds turned into seagulls; the stoic houses beneath it whales; and the lawns became ocean floors, littered with shells and jewels. A tiny corner of my neighborhood transformed by the presence of a spinning statuette held high above a singular roof, a winsome silhouette held in the grip of the weather’s caprice.
The happy, airborne creature had paused in its gambols over the four winds: their full cheeks and blowing curls building a cherubic compass. It breached over a quadrant of arrows that pointed towards the vast corners of an earthly mansion, defining the map that sailed across the sky. It laughed at the free-wheeling cartography that floated like stars, wrapping it in constellations and the trails of planets – the latitudes and longitudes of its joyful home.