Windswept

I dreamt of you last night, something I haven't done in a dozen years, maybe longer. Yes, thoughts of you have occasionally passed my mind but never in a dream so vivid.

The warm breeze off the ocean caressed my skin like feathery light kisses. Then I felt it, your hand on my hip, your breath on my neck. My heart quickened. I felt as though the lacing of my corset would burst, my heart was beating so fiercely. In the distance I saw ships, great sailed beasts outlined against blue sky and grey seas. They were traveling across the ocean to a world far away; a world I would never see. Then suddenly you were gone from me. Away upon one of those ships you stood on a wind and water swept deck. You were looking toward your destination, east, and your future.

The salty sea spray from my dream was that of quiet tears upon waking. Do you ever think of me? Do you ever remember that last summer beside the ocean?

It has been many years since I’ve stood upon the shore. I miss the sound. Like gentle thunder, I miss the rolling sound as it breaks upon the shore. I have a shell that reminds me when I put it to my ear but it's not the same. Summer here is filled with the sound of locusts. They sound like windup tin toys; dozens of them, hundreds of them, lined up on a shelf in a toy shop. Our fields and woods are filled with the metallic buzz for weeks on end.

I look at my hands. They were once delicate; the hands of a beloved daughter with few worries beyond her embroidery or piano. Today they are dry and cracked; the hands of a washer woman, farmer, wife and mother. They haven't made music in many years.

That summer you were a rapt listener as I played for guests in my grandmother’s salon. Was it truly the music that caught your attention or my young and pretty face? That face is worn now from age and work. Would you even notice me in a crowd?

I don't want to sound ungrateful or maudlin. I have a good life here. My husband works hard for me and the children. Our children are bright and beautiful. I love to see them smile. Our farm is prosperous enough to keep us fed, warm and comfortable. Our neighbors are friendly and helpful. I have little to complain about.

But sometimes when I'm alone I can't help but wonder, "What if things had been different?"

I have an empty bottle of blue glass. I keep it in a window to catch the morning light, or hold a small spray of wild flowers. Today it will become a ship. It will sail forth from my village's small river. From there it will gently pass through the countryside and eventually to the sea. Will my ship of blue glass ever deliver this message to you? Perhaps only in my dreams.