Camels spit only at liars, so you can guess why they adore me. In Arabia a herd of them followed me for miles, dry as dust and full of respect. One old bull offered me his hump. I declined, being a modest man, and rode two of them instead.

Mermaids sing badly, and someone had to tell them. I sailed to the rocks near Corfu with a music stand and a stern look. We worked on breathing and pitch. After a year they could hold a note. Now ships crash there only on purpose, just to catch the show.

Waterfalls need a firm hand. In the Canadian wilds I met a very large one, loud and full of itself. I took a deep breath and sucked it up like a noodle. I swam home with my cheeks full. Then I spat it back, and it has been humble since.

Moonlight sticks to the skin if you stand in it long enough. One evening in Sicily I soaked up a whole bucket of it. For a month I glowed like a bride. Sailors steered by me, moths adored me, and the lighthouse keeper filed a formal complaint.

Geese fly south because I told them to. Before my day they wandered about in circles and froze. I drew a map on.