Wisshhhhh . . . .

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Wisshhhhh . . . .

Wooshhh — . . . gurgle. Wooshhh . . . trickle.

The fog begins to lift, the mind begins to clear. The eyes and the mind try to focus. Early morning light before dawn. Unable to turn, I cast a sidelong glance across the damp sand and see shorebirds skittering about on the beach. A smell of salty sea-foam.

Washhh . . . . gurgle; washhh . . . trickle.

Is this a dream? Am I awake? Is any of this real? I can hear the waves from the incoming tide lapping the shore in front of me but the harder I try to see them, the less I perceive. Only when I cease straining to see and hear do they come more sharply into view.

Wushhh . . . . gurgle; wushhh . . . trickle.

Unable to feel my limbs (do I even have limbs?), I can’t turn or move on my own. The rising water gently lifts me and I drift slowly away from where I started.

Where I started. There was a yesterday? There was a beginning? I don’t know and can’t know. For me it all began just now when the fog lifted.

Floating on the water, I must be farther from shore, the sound of the waves now behind me. I struggle to see where I came from but with each effort I start to sink below the surface. Only when I yield to the current does the sea, in its own time, turn me toward shore.

I see figures on the shore. I must have been close to them once but then I turned away and later drifted out to sea.

Wooshhh — . . . gurgle. Wooshhh . . . trickle.

I am lifted up by an unseen force, floating in the air now, the figures far below me. I long to be with them but with every effort and movement, every wish I start to fall to earth. Only acceptance of the wind keeps me aloft.

Wishhhh . . . Wishhh . . . .

 

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