Awake into the joy of walking with the dolphins. I find them swimming slowly in between the two fishing piers. Quite a few, swimming casually. A mother with two young dolphins, three fins synchronized, rising and falling. It’s a fair and fine morning with many walkers, shell pickers and fishermen. After I have my dolphin picture I am content. I look at everything; the dolphin was what I wanted most to see. After my walk there is a trip to the airport for new arrivals and the joy of escorting them here; my daughter and her boyfriend, the long ride and then the relief of our homecoming. A brilliant, glittered day. I dip twice in the Gulf, linger. I am the only swimmer. People seem to think the water is still cold. Under a blazing sun it’s a salt-sweet refreshing sanctuary. My daughter brings mail, and in the mail, two copies of The Ocotillo Review, and my poem inside. My daughter flips it open exactly to the page of my poem:, A Mother’s Wishful, inspired by a family Easter photo from my childhood. I am happy to see this poem in print.