The bay was like he had never seen that morning, and he thought of calling her in.
The sun’s reach was just above the horizon and spanned across the vastness of each variant of blue – light for the cloudless sky, and dark for the endless oceanic abyss below.
And upon those waves, Safa, his only daughter, drifted in a solitary boat crafted by her grandfather.
And she dreamed. He knew she did. It was all she did, day in and day out, and about many things. She brought together the most quixotic of notions in that silly girlish mind of hers, and feigned existence in the real world as she did.
He watched her from the careless sandy shore, the lazy white grains blowing into his bare feet, allowing the swift breezes to take them where they would. He watched as she drifted, and knew that as much as he explained to her about this reality, she would never fully accept it. Her life was her own, and she would be where she chose.
Where was she now, as he recognized the futility of teaching her to conform? Where was she? Was she dancing with the Red Ballerinas on the Stage Clouds of Paradise Square? Was she befriending the Yellow Bear who was really a King in a land across the Mountains?
Why not a few minutes more? He thought. She deserves time to live where she belongs.