The Thing on the Shore

I dreamed of boat oars dipped in water, of muscles bunching and tensing beneath the sun. There was beaded sweat on my brow and roaring grizzlies on the shore. I dreamed, and searched, and wondered down rushing teal rivers, and heard the churn of water and call of ravens. The sun was bright and eternal, and the mountains crisp and looming.

Fish jumped and sprang. My husband laughed and smiled. He was warm and breathtakingly beautiful as he always is in sleep and wake. We lean back into the next row, and he moves with ease and strength. His cheeks were red, flushed with summer. An eagle moves over head, its shadow touching the water. There is dialogue but I have forgotten the words we said.

We drift to shore and build a fire. It crackles and soothes the chilly wind away from our fingertips. There will be food and a tent, and something sinister is in the woods. We speak of it, unease in my voice. It is a monster worse than bears, prowling the shore. Its claws are long and hungry. Its snout ready for blood. And, it is somewhere, out there, searching for us.

The shallow water gurgles on past, the small pebbles underneath the current beckoning to find one that glimmers. I could forget the thing in the woods for now, find something better to focus on.

But, screaming alarms rip me from this dream. I am tangled both in blankets and my husband's arms. It's warm, safe, and smells of home. I blink away the crusties in my eyes, and find gratitude that the night ended before the dream could become putrid. Outside the window, the mountains this morning are cloudy and blanketed in mist, as if they harbor the beast of my sleep. As if they know, tomorrow night there is no telling where my mind will go.