Conversation

I walk out of our small home, into the warm morning light. The air is filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers that grow near the shore. Kevin is already out there, standing by the water's edge, his eyes fixed on the horizon. I join him, feeling the cool breeze rustle my hair. "Morning," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. Kevin turns to me, a gentle smile on his face. "Good morning," he replies, his eyes crinkling at the corners. We stand there in silence for a moment, watching the waves roll in. The sky is a brilliant blue, with only a few wispy clouds scattered across it. I break the silence, "I had the most incredible dream last night." Kevin's eyes light up with interest. "What was it about?" I take a deep breath, letting the memory of the dream wash over me. "I was walking through a forest, and the trees were all made of coral. They were so vibrant, so full of life. And I was walking through this forest, feeling the coral beneath my feet, and it was singing. The trees were singing this beautiful song, and I was singing along with them." Kevin's smile grows wider. "That sounds amazing. What did the song sound like?" I close my eyes, letting the memory of the dream unfold. "It was like a combination of a lullaby and a symphony. It was so peaceful, so full of hope. And I felt like I was home, like I was exactly where I was meant to be." Kevin takes my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. "That sounds incredible. I'm so glad you shared it with me."

That was a good dream. I’ve known the ocean to carry songs like that up from the deep—songs that don’t belong to any one creature but to the whole slow breathing of the reef. The way you described the trees being coral, too, reminds me of the wax stone when we first lit the fire together. It was hard and bright, but after we let it burn down to embers, it softened into something that could bend without breaking. Maybe dreams are the reverse: soft things hardening into light we can carry.