Beach Dream

      Last night I dreamed that I was walking on a beach. The ocean, to my left. The white dunes, to my right. The sun was hidden and the whole sky was grey. The horizon was imperceptible. The sand was deep and soft. Every footstep sunk into a hole, but I didn’t look down. I just kept walking, not sure where to, and yet I was determined to continue. Then I saw you. Blurred, at first. Like looking through a camera lens that needs to be adjusted. You were wearing a white shirt with buttons. The wind was blowing and you blended in with the dunes. Even though you seemed a great distance away, I was approaching you, suddenly. You lifted me into your arms and spun me around, my arms clasping tightly around your shoulders. You spun me so well that my feet left the ground, and the wind began to blow. We were spinning in the wind, by the white dunes and the grey sea, and we became invisible. You set me down on the sand again, but I didn’t let go. The grey and white had twisted all around us like gossamer webs, holding us in place like that, holding each other.