From the mountain top comes a streak of light. A trail of phosphorescence tracks towards us. Another follows, then another closing fast. Torpedoes, intent on their target. There can be no escape.
Yet as we watch, there is no bang, no flash,
no screams from below as steel, fire and water become one.
Instead we are confronted at close quarters with pure beauty and grace.
An escort of dolphins.
We watch entranced.
Captivated by the speed and confidence of their play in our wake.
Jumping, rolling, squeaking and clicking.
Up to the bow, first port then starboard crissing and crossing.
90 degrees out then back, darting this way and that.
Frollicking, ghostly traces in the night.
A stream of twinkling tumbling light.
Shooting stars in the blackness of our wake.
A borealis of the deep. No sooner here than gone.
Three trails of applause disappear into the night.
Alone again we sit in silence.
How can it be I ask myself,
I feel humbled by these 'fish'?
Why do I feel that my every thought could be read?
My loneliness a signal to arrive.
My joy, the nod to go.
Why are we so sure we know best,
when it is clear to me that we may rule the land
but dolphins rule the sea.
GMP
Oct 2002
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