dolphins and the sea

My friend was telling me about an island, only 27 kilometres wide, long or square - I cannot quite recall. The island boasted a luxury resort where the very wealthy went to unwind. As she told me about it, I saw it appear, as though on a cinema screen. I could see an imposing building, probably about forty storeys high and very wide, made of grey stone or cement, and convex in shape, perched atop a tropical island. The image became increasingly clear and large, so that we eventually stepped into the picture - we were on the island, inside the resort, in a viewing room under the building. From there, we gazed out through vast glass windows to the surrounding sea, which was a strikingly beautiful blue, more lapis lazuli than sky. We could see a man swimming alone in the waves, and I wondered at his courage. Without us noticing, the viewing room had become part of the ocean, still enclosed by large glass walls; we now floated on the surface of a bottomless sea. The water was refreshingly cold and spectacularly clear - I could see down into the depths, into the darkness. Although relishing in the crystal waters, I felt somewhat anxious about the creatures that might lurk beneath. I looked around for signs of sharks and, indeed, big fish, perhaps six or seven, came swimming up through the water towards us. As they neared, I could see they were dolphins and knew, in their presence, we were safe. We welcomed them and they us, as they swam around us, close enough to stroke. The dolphins each wore hundreds of iridescent blue-green spots on their backs, and I could see their sharp teeth but did not fear them. One dolphin came close to me, facing me, and I put my arms around it, embracing it. My friend and I felt fortunate, blessed by both the divine sea and the friendship of the dolphins.