Two Bottled Dolphins

A coconut plopped from a part unknown and found itself in a claimant landscape tug-of-war.

It got pointed and pushed around in the turbid surf.  Unknowingly, the drupaceous fruit strove down the slick dune in its gained momentum into the sea, which brushed the husk backward, violently at times, so that the sopping coir would retreat and climb the muddied smooth sand ramp in the night; hence, spray spat upon the observer, who determined it was perhaps the breezy atmosphere after all, not the churning sea water bouncing off the toffee sand over the seaweed that misted her face whereupon she sat less than a yard from the blackberry sea, in a creviced fluffy tread of powdery sand, anteceded from the tracks of a lax public safety vehicle.

The coconut’s complexion shone nearly as obscure as an eight ball, now vellicated without direction, being dragged horizontally with less force.  In fact, for a split second, it rest, the lacunae of the swells engendering a complacent settlement for pondering.  But no, the coconut was shifted.  The impending roll henceforth negated until another wave jostled it further.  The ripened black bean skipped, and with slightly more torque would have staggered and trilled vertically surfward again, but the ensuing bubbling current, seemingly an aliquot of the same wave asunder, broadsided in an intransigent armada, the heavy shell, with a sucking foamy deposit underneath, acting as stimuli in coppice gangs of effervesces, persuading the seed’s precarious impetus to spurt haltingly, nestled wigwam in a falsely dank arch pose, yet again.

This nutty rolling along the foamy, fringy tightrope vacillated more or less into the night after the squall quickly passed.

One’s supposition may refute the demeritorious notion of the squall’s perpetuation on the choppy brine save for a sudden change of heart curtailing the coastal sway’s gust.  Certainly, if one’s gaze affixed principally to either element, then the attention of the observer may well have neglected the coconut’s crusade.

However, beneath her left eye, Jacquie brushed the mist away that mustered a minute colony of droplets on her freckle, and still did watch, with such afterthoughts, as the coconut zigged and zagged, drifting in a dither, northward up the coastline.

Jacquie’s strife arose from dissenting yearnings in her own mind.  Her daughter had become ill and in dire need of emergency care.  The drug money Billy baited her with to accompany him to Venezuela would be a quick remedy, rendering the effusive cash formerly earned at ‘The Cab’ as patchwork-honeyed fixes.  She had never been away for a lengthy period from Alexis.