The pounding of surf crashing along the shoreline intruded on my dreams, nearly but not quite waking me.
I love everything about the ocean; the salty tang of saltwater, hot sand and seaweed in the air, the constantly changing shades of blues, grays and greens glittering as far as the eye can see, the restless and yet restful sounds.
There’s nothing like sleeping at the beach when a summer storm brews up. Powerful, white-crested combers push rhythmically up the sand, one after another as the tide draws in, their thunderous crescendos drowning out the sound of seagulls and the gentler gurgling of water being pulled back to sea.
The wind must have picked up, I remember thinking groggily, as the light, distinctive tinkle of beach sand blowing against window glass stirred me again towards wakefulness.
The relaxing sound of summer waves hitting the shore didn’t fade as I reluctantly surfaced from a rare afternoon nap. My brain, slowly adapting from sleep to wakefulness, simply reassigned the sounds more realistically.
My eyes opened – and then promptly snapped closed again. I liked my dream much better than the blowing February snow pelting hard little pellets against my bedroom window.
The rolling ocean waves had morphed once again into the sound of winter wind, blowing in gusts against the house. Snow, in mock mimicry of the sandy beach I so desired, drifted across the deck in cold dunes.
Oh well … it was sure nice while it lasted.