there be giants

Some children see shapes in clouds.
Some like hiding in laundry hampers and pretending it is a robot named Nevets.

Some are both. Like me.

One of the downsides of an overactive imagination is once it it starts rolling, there is no stopping it. Take take rock pictured above.

It is part of a series of rocks that create a boating hazard at the mouth of our bay. That is how a sailor sees them. Landlubbers tend to seem more fantastical shapes.

A couple of years ago, my friend Joyce and I were sitting at Papa Gallo's looking out at the ocean. I mentioned that The Rhinoceros always fascinated me with its head and horn. She looked at me as if the horn I had just admired was growing out of my forehead.

"Rhinoceros? It is a giant," she corrected.

And that is the power of suggestion. Until then, I had never seen a giant on the verge of the bay. The rock has always been The Rhinoceros. Maybe I was in a Salvador Dali stage when I first saw it.

But it no longer matters. All I can see is a giant -- as clear as day. We have all had that same experience when looking at the classic optical illusion that can be either a beautiful young woman or my much-older cousin Sam in drag. Once you concentrate on one, the other disappears.

But a giant it is. A sleeping giant. Maybe the one that Admiral Yamamoto apocryphally worried about.

There it is. His head. His hair. His chest. His legs. His knees. His feet. And I will let you take it from there.

As for me, I am momentarily stuffing my imagination into that long-ago-abandoned laundry hamper. Nevets needs to run some calculations.