The water always calmed her. Even when the winds were high and dragged waves into snowcaps, she'd find an aged rock above the surf, spread herself about her seat and watch the horizon. She wondered how the swell could stand to lose her children when they reached too far out and were swallowed by the rocks, but soon enough they'd return, nestling into her maternal arms. Today was a good fishing day. Men lined themselves down the breakwater, dipping poles and nets into the sea while hoping to catch some patience. She would pass them on her walk to the lighthouse and nod, knowing they sat calmly on coolers and chairs but secretly danced within. The rough wind did that to a person, serenade him with a song and plant a hope for just one catch, and then one more. The farther out she carried, there were no walls or taut line to hold her from the sea, only a concrete walkway, her tightrope above the world. Waves reached up and grasped at her; she didn't play hard to get and gave a shoe, a shoulder, to their bite. That way, she figured, she could take some of the sea home with her. The endless blanket of blue called to her, flattering her with symphonies composed with each thrusting rise and fall to its depths. It offered her clothes made of the finest thread, smooth and satin between her fingers. But what pulled her in most were the deep, liquid eyes that churned teal, azure or steel at the shift of the sky. Today was special. Today it was all three. A butterfly appeared against the thick, encroaching clouds. As if suspended by a string, it fluttered around her, dipping low and up again above the waves, playing some sort of game only it seemed to know. She watched, and the wind bellowed stronger to its sail. Like rolling pins, the water's arms lurched across the air, crashing carelessly about the rocks. A few hiccups hit her face and she rubbed them in. It wasn't every day one was kissed by a wave. The roar of the wind and rain of water swirled around her, bringing a cool air and stealing the sun. She closed her eyes. Wings sprouted from her back, deep, scarlet wings that blinked and begged for release. Acquiescing, the wind extended an invitation. They swung into the vast atmosphere, and with them she rose. Above the rocks, above the swimming surface below, they floated out to sea, curling with the tide and coloring the clouds. The sea welcomed her with laughing leaps. She looked to the fishermen, who still clung to their shaking lines, and waved.

When my daughter was little, we lived in a sprawling ranch home in a very wooded area. Deer came into our yard and ate our plants and laid on the grass all the time. I would stand at the window and say, "Look, do you see the fawn and the doe?" and she would nod her head and watch them. We went to a small antique store one day and she became very excited, pointing to the concrete deer on the ground. "Look, fondue, fondue!" It took me a little while to figure out what she was talking about, then I realized she had thought that fawn and doe were one word- fawndoe or fondue. Fondue came home with us that day and has remained an indoor pet ever since.