Gentle Ramblings
5:41 a.m. — Spanish Islands (winter dreams)
I wake to the sound of waves, crashing against a vacant beach. A procession of clear ripples roll towards the shore to kiss her salty feet, then recede to the back of the line only to come, again and again. I’m thankful for the curtains we left undrawn last night, allowing me to witness the eternal waltz of the ocean and the shore from the comfort of my bed.
The sky outside is a brilliant blue, I check the time, 6:30 a.m. I’m late, but I’m sure they’ve started without me. You stir a little, sighing and clapping your lips together before returning to the serenity of your dream world. I bend down to kiss you on the forehead, your eyes open slowly to see me awkwardly crouched over you. Why do I have to ruin beautiful things? Before I can answer the critic in my mind, your eyelids fall like two stage curtains.
I sit on the floor for ten minutes doing nothing, except sitting on the floor. Then I pour a bowl of milk and cereal, write a small journal entry, fix a coffee and pour it into a black thermos. My blue bicycle is chained to the fence but I don’t need it today. It’s a beautiful day in the Spanish Islands, and I think I’ll walk.
On my way out, I pass the locked wooden shed. Inside are all the things from a past life I once lived, all the things I never really needed. The memory of that life weaves itself into my mind and lingers there for a moment until I step outside the gate. I continue down the winding wooden path until I reach the shore. I kneel down and kiss her salty feet.
Yours faithfully untrue,
Victor Schmicktor
