The dolphin knows precisely when to feed when to bless the day when to swim south feels the pull of the tides.
Each day at noon he walks across the factory floor around lathes, shavings, and up the metal staircase into the small office its windows overlooking the shop floor and pushes the red button mounted on the wall. The whistle peals over town as people glance reflexively at their watches. When asked, he says it is always precisely noon never sooner, never later he is certain, for he checks the clock on the steeple of the ancient church set each Friday by the parson to insure God’s work is promptly done.
Each day at ten before six the parson climbs the ancient wooden steps into the bell tower and staring at his watch, waits until the hands align then leans into the rope as the bell rings out six times then he climbs down and walks across the neatly trimmed lawn to the small white clapboard house that sits on the edge of the cemetery behind the church. It is precisely six he says for each day at noon he sets his watch to the factory whistle.
First appeared in PKA Advocate, No. 9, December 1996
The dolphin is born of the water, the man born of the fire and of the earth. The dolphin swims unrestrained, the man chooses to live in the city of Afterlife, focussed on impending rebirth. The dolphin stares up in wonder at the amassing clouds, the man curses the sky shielding him from heaven. The dolphin nurses her pup, the man
suckles at the fount of promises.