What I dreamed last night
I’m lying on my stomach on a beach. I can feel the soft, solid curves of the sand under my body, and the gritty texture of the sand under my fingertips and my toes where I’m longer than my towel. I dig my feet in further; it’s cool and damp.
My eyes are closed, and I can hear the steady repetition of waves hitting the beach, drawing back up, falling again. I half-open my eyelids to watch the motion matched to the sound: in, out, up, down. Each wave drawing back under the one next to it, so there is a strip of sand bared for only half a second before it is drowned in surf again.
It’s early, and chilly. I can hear seagulls in the distance, and when the breeze blows I shiver, close my eyes, and try to wriggle my body closer to the earth. But I don’t leave. I can already see the sun, and I know in a few hours it’ll be high enough to drench the world in heat.
My eyes are closed, and I can hear the steady repetition of waves hitting the beach, drawing back up, falling again. I half-open my eyelids to watch the motion matched to the sound: in, out, up, down. Each wave drawing back under the one next to it, so there is a strip of sand bared for only half a second before it is drowned in surf again.
It’s early, and chilly. I can hear seagulls in the distance, and when the breeze blows I shiver, close my eyes, and try to wriggle my body closer to the earth. But I don’t leave. I can already see the sun, and I know in a few hours it’ll be high enough to drench the world in heat.