There’s something to be said about sleeping in the forest. Images move in your mind like paintings and flowers get built inside of your head. Each dream I had was so colorful, almost as bright as the waking forest itself. If only the city had fresh air like this, I would never have trouble sleeping again.
Next to our campground there was a batch of large trees. In between them there was a dirt trail that walked you to the ocean. One early morning we followed that trail. I stood there, with the lightness of my feet in sea water, watching the waves roll on by. Below me, little fish touched my ankles and then disappeared into sea foam. [This kind of view could dim the face of a lover.]