‘Elephants!’ we hear Silky Josephine say, the boys and I. 

She’s been finding them by the dozens. Ever since I read to her the story of Terra and Bella, the inseparable elephant and dog. In everything from dried leaves to her dinner dish. Even still, Peter Pan, Harley and I turn to where she points. You never know. And Silky sounds oddly certain.

‘Elephants! Elephants! Elephants!’ she says, dancing. 

And she is right. 

There, just above the horizon is a tribe, a herd, a caravan, a parade, trunk to tail, trunk to tail, gray and lumberous, gilded by the rising sun. Elephants. 

‘See?’ Silky asks.

'They're just ...' Peter Pan says.

'Elephants,' I interrupt. 'I do see them Josephine. I do.'  

And the four of us watch as slowly they fade into the day.