Dreams Of A Tired Man

Sitting there, alone on a bench at the far edge of the boards, he liked to stare out into the endlessness of the cloudy shores. He would look across barren sands to the place where the ocean should be. An impenetrable fog obscuring all visual evidence of the aquatic world. He would imagine the scene extending out not just in front, but enveloping him on all sides. A speck of life in a circle of flat sand and thick fog. With nothing around him save for the gentle roar of waves and the intermittent cries of seagulls. Devoid of the bustling noise and rush of life. Images of sailing these enshrouded waters or floating gracefully through the air, disappearing into the faded nothingness, flitter briefly through his head. It's in this barren landscape of dreams that he is truly happy, if only for a moment.