Hold on tight to your dreams

Future Perfect Now #339

My heart is full. Today, you and I have taken a short walk along the beach and are sitting among the rocks as the afternoon sun starts to dip towards the horizon. It’s still hot, so we brought the big sunshade, so I could sketch as you read. I sketch, you read. You’re lying beside me on a towel, bottom nestled against my legs where I rest my pad and scratch away. There’s a slight, warm breeze—but nothing to curl the paper, flip your pages or send the sunshade bowling along the sand. I can feel the tingling energy of the air and the sea as it lazily dances to and fro on the sand. Muffled thumps as each new breaker breaks, sending little birds hurrying up the sand – avian commuters on their daily rush to work. I draw. The contact with you is a heart-swelling distraction that makes me smile. My marks play on the paper with a dreamy quality that tells me all is well and this little piece will work beautifully. You brush your hair behind your ear, sigh a contented sigh and glance at the vista as you turn a page. I briefly wonder how many pages you have turned in your life. It must be millions. I find myself vacantly staring at the ripples in the sand. Perfect patterns that run on seemingly forever, made in silence with no input from anyone. Better, so much better, than anyone could have thought up. And we are content, living in this fantastic emerging artwork of life.