Dreaming of Home

The lapping of the waves bathed my feet in such soft reverence and if I closed my eyes, I could feel a thousand tiny licks tickle at my toes. My heels dug into the wet sands, carving a small hole where ocean pooled. Lar torvis streamed downward in warming rays, creating small reflecting jeweled prisms where droplets on my flesh reigned.

I think have never been so content, so completely free of turmoil and so emotionally calmed. I knew that if I died at that precise ehn, that nothing could have made for a more perfect departure from this world.

Heavily fringed lids covered my eyes and I lay back into the cool escape of the sands, nestling into the silhouette my body had made. I shifted, first to the left and then to the right, something sharp poking me in the back, probably an errant stick or a shell. I wiggled and squirmed, trying to alleviate the uncomfortable entity from poking me, but to no avail.

I awoke with a moan, trying to dislodge the corner of one of the books I was laying on from my spine. It was hard to tell which book was the culprit, for in fact, there were many that shared my place of rest on Silas’ couch. Today, before I made my way back to Ar, I would at set the room to right.

When at last I gave up the search for the object that had awakened me from such a surreal existence, I moved to the window that over looked the courtyard below. Dawn’s gray knife was sluicing through darkened twilight skies and colliding with a pinpoint of magenta, one that would soon burst with heated hues of topaz, oranges and touches of copper.

I have come to realize though this is not the island home on which I have been raised, it is no less beautiful. Sunrises and sunsets hold a magic all their own across the land, but then, I’m sure that is true of any city.

Know it or not, I am home.