I had a dream last night about a bouncing, bulbous man who scalloped across the water, laughing, like a mirth filled balloon. His laugh was basso profundo and I named him in my dream, The Great Rotundo.
He bounced off the wave tops as the wind was clocked against the rushing tide, making for a running tumble of sea that the Great Rotundo took as ski jump level entertainment. After what seemed like a long skipping trip across the water, with the jewels of phosphorescence stirred up in the dark lighting the way, the round one bounced up on my beach.
I heard him BOING-BOING as he bounded across the grassy slope leading up from the dock and then slammed into the house. The door flew open and he rolled into my room as I lay in bed marveling.The dogs were not alarmed. They wagged their tails. The Great Rotundo gave them pets and hugs and, in exchange, the pups licked the seaweed and sand off the circular man.
“What do you want, oh round one?” I asked.
“A drink and a nap,” he said.