Dream

The waves of the music engulfed him like the melodic waves of the ocean, the grains of sand like the tingling in his eardrums from the pounding of the song. As his grasp on reality was suspended, he no longer knew whether he was resting on the cold cement or the warm shore, embraced by the millions of minuscule pebbles, his feet slowly submerged in the cool foam of the ocean. As the guitar's and the violin's and the cello's and the trumpet's conversation died down, as their loud voices became a dull murmur, the sand the man was holding in his left hand seeped between his fingers, the cool sea on his toes and feet became the cool gust of the wind, and the shifting, warm floor of sand became the hard, cold floor of concrete. The man's eyes reluctantly opened, his legs and arms slowly brought him upright. His feet followed one another to the band, his mouth asked them to play another song, and his hand dove into his pocket, emerged with some change and dropped it into the velvet emptiness of the instrument's case. The man's feet shuffled back along the cement, slowly crumbling as it metamorphosed into sand, his legs bent, his arms did not meet cement or sand, this new melody brought a hammock. As he rested, the violin became the creak of the of the hammock's swing, the guitar became the sounds of the seagulls, the cello the drum and repeated crash of the waves, and the trumpet the warm wind gusting through the palm umbrellas. The man shut his eyes.

© Copyright 2009 by Roberto Sande Carmona