Sea farm

⏱ ~5 min reading

In the warm shallow water, where the sun's rays reached all the way to the sandy bottom and danced on it in golden spots, there lived three dolphins. Their names were Flash, Splat, and Zhmenka. Their skin was smooth, pearly gray, and on their backs were crescent-shaped fins, like little fishing boats.

The dolphins were not like the others. The others swam in schools, caught herring, and chased each other for fun. But these three had a job.

They built a farm. A real one, by the sea, in the warmest part of the bay, where the water was so clear that you could see every pebble at the bottom.

"This is our garden," said Zhmenka, the smallest of the three, proudly. "Corals will grow here. And fish will swim. And everything will bloom.".

Each dolphin had its own business. Flash watered the corals - swam up to them and gently waved his tail so that the fresh current would bring them food. Squishy kept order - chased away greedy crabs that could do harm, and drove away the garbage that sometimes came from the open sea. And Zhmenka fed the fish. She had a special talent - she knew where to find the smallest plankton, and quietly released it in clouds over the farm, as if sowing seeds in a spring garden.

At first the farm was small. A few clumps of coral, a few fish that timidly hid in the crevices. But the dolphins were patient. They worked every day - at dawn, when the water still smelled of the night's coolness, and in the evening, when the sun gilded the tops of the waves.

A week has passed. A month has passed. Six months have passed.

And then one morning, Flash swam up to his friends and clicked enthusiastically:

"Look! Just look!"

Slush and Zhmenka looked around and gasped. The farm came to life. Corals bloomed. Pink - like an April sunrise. Red - like ripe berries. Blue - like the sky before a thunderstorm. Yellow - like ribbons on grandma's apron. And among them - fish. Small, silver, striped, dotted, with long tails, with transparent fins. They scurried here and there, like children at recess.

"We did it," said Zhmenka quietly. "The three of us.".

Word of the amazing farm spread quickly across the sea. First, the neighboring fish came to see. Then, sea turtles from distant reefs. Then, even a whale swam into the bay as far as it could, swimming from afar, not daring to come close so as not to damage the small corals.

“How did you do it?” the guests asked.

The dolphins didn't hide a secret. They showed. They told. They took guests on a little tour along the rows of coral. Flash explained how to fan the water with his tail. Squish - how to keep pests out. Handful - how to feed the fish with gentle clouds of plankton.

— Can we do the same in our sea?

"Of course," smiled Flash. "There is only one sea. All the seas are connected. What you do will help us all.".

And farms began to appear all over the world. In the cold northern seas, seals built them - slowly, carefully, with a blanket of seaweed. In the warm southern seas, sea turtles with pelicans flying nearby and giving instructions from above. In the distant eastern waters, even octopuses, who could hold eight things in their eight hands at once.

The water was changing. It was becoming clearer. Cleaner. It was repopulating with fish that no one had seen for a long time. The sound of coral—that gentle, barely audible crunch that comes from millions of tiny polyps breathing together—was returning to where it had been forgotten.

One evening, Zhmenka, the smallest of the dolphins, was swimming past her garden, thinking quietly. Slush and Flash had just finished their work and swam up to her.

“What are you thinking about, little one?” asked Flash.

— That water is also alive, — answered Zhmenka. — I used to think: only the earth is alive. Trees, grass, flowers. And water is just transparent like that. But it turns out, no. Water also breathes. It also rejoices. It also gives thanks.

"Thank you?" Khlyupa was surprised. "How is that?"

— And so, — Zhmenka waved her tail around. — Look how transparent it is. Six months ago it was murky here. And now you can see the bottom. The water is thanking us. In its own way.

The dolphins silently looked at their bay. At the corals that moved quietly in the current. At the fish that scurried among them like small silver leaves. At the sun's rays that fell on the sand in golden threads.

And we realized — Zhmenka is right.

"And if a person lives near water," she added quietly, "let them take care too. They don't throw trash. They give thanks. They listen. Water hears. Water is alive. It's just waiting for someone to say a kind word to it.".

The waves lapped softly against the shallows. The sun was setting, turning the water a peach color. Somewhere in the distance, a seagull called.

And the three dolphins swam home — to sleep in their little bay, among their blooming garden, in the water that knew how to give thanks.