dreams of anonymity

She quietly climbed the undulating ridges of the steep granite bluff—honing into faint cries of seals set against dominating waves which spiraled into the golden strand.

She closed her eyes, completely enveloped in aromas of silvery foliage underscored by wide-spanning swaths of grass. As her eyes slowly reopened, she was met with the calm of an infinite horizon bifurcated by sea and sky.  

Leaning over, she clasped a handful of dirt—rubbing it between her fingers to enable softer muck to be scrubbed away by the coarser grains of sand. Replete with a sense of connection to the land, she dipped her hand in once again…

A man, wrinkled through time and modest in stature, emerged beside her. 

“Splendid morning to be up in these parts,” he said. “You’re not from around here?”

“I’m not,” she smiled, “I’m in from the city.”

“Then this must be paradise,” he asserted, “been here my entire life… couple generations actually, my great-grandfather bought the land and got the family into sheep-herding, and we’ve made do ever since.”

“Yeah?” she asked, impressed by his ability to tell the story of three generations in a single phrase. 

“And you?” he queried.

At that moment, she awoke. This was the same recurring dream she kept experiencing—and it did feel like paradise.

As she arose, she resumed her reality. She was still the Queen.

-m

January 19, 2021