Where I daydream

Close your eyes and lean back.

The sounds around you swirl about. They distort. They ride a decrescendo to next to nothing. Slowly, all that exists is the soft sound of a gentle breeze and a very distant call of a bird.

You can feel the wind tickling the back of your neck.

The sun is out. You know this because you can feel it on your skin; it’s not hot – it’s not burning. It’s simply there, warming.

And then the breeze grows – never a gust, but a constant movement of air about you, like a cool breath constantly exhaling on your exposed skin. You become chilly, but not cold. A sweatshirt would be wonderful. Better woul be the touch of someone else, stealing each other’s body heat.

Your nostrils fill with the scent of fresh air. Cool air, coming in and seemingly filling your body. Is that a hint of the sea tickling your nose? Or a campfire? A freshly mown lawn? A lover’s scent?

You pull your knees into you, hugging them to your chest. You think, wistfully, about the breeze. You concentrate on your breathing. You feel this air filling you. Recharging you.

Skin against your skin would be perfect right now.

You open your eyes.

You can take on anything.