Outside my bedroom door that should have opened onto a deck, but didn't.

My husband and others in the doorway looking toward me eagerly, awaiting some response, but what?

Someone's eyes glanced down the slope toward the garden where new rock lay.

I had wanted a rock to put on top of the new tree stump my son had created at my request.

Here was a Rock of Rocks...roughly oval and flattish and large and long...with some stacked oval shapes toward one end.

A Good Rock.

I smiled in wonder and worried that steve had carried it himself, but they all waved off  my worry with their hand gestures.  The rock drew me back and as they watched and I watched it shimmered a bit.

I laughed with pleasure at the change, and as I did, the rock grew and took shape.

A head and nosed sniffed the air, and as it stretched upward a neck and torso took shape and life.

A brushy pale moustache appeared...and flippers...and I whooped with laughter.

The sound encouraged more life and fluid movement...now everyone laughed and gave it more life yet. 

He clapped for himself, and quivered with anticipation, his pale lips in a delicate pout of pleasure.  His softly-colored barnacles glistened in the light.

Ready now, he stretched toward the turquoise sky and launched himself with grace and abandon...he twisted and turned and somersaulted...he made his own music as he danced through the air. 

He ducked and feinted and parried and did loop-de-loops...and...satisfied... landed back on the big rock oval.

He clapped and barked mightily for himself.

I didn't have a fish to throw him.