Dreaming of a Spanish Morning — Lindsey McCormack

Dreaming of a Spanish Morning

Lindsey McCormack

Gold flakes of moonlight glistened atop the sea as waves swooshed monotonously against

the shoreline. I sat high up in a lifeguard tower looked out at the ocean scene, imagined fish dancing in the golden spotlights beneath

the waves. A cool breeze rippled against my skin, against the tide, it soothed me, settled me

into my spot atop the tower. I closed my eyes, let the salt air fill my sinuses allowed the waves to become white noise permitted the breeze to form goosebumps upon

my sweaty skin. Across the Atlantic morning was breaking in Spain. Someone was watching the sunrise over the ocean that lay in front of me, tide moving in

the opposite direction I wished to stay there all night until the breeze had atrophied my skin with sand, until the smell of seaweed became potent, until the dancing fish lost their spotlights, until the sun was rising for me, until the tide was headed back towards Spain.