1a.m. Night sounds. Waves folding over, the trillions of droplets smashing together, forming foam, a soft sissssing noise. A night heron calls as it passes overhead.
Nearby, a frog's chorus begins. Slowly at first, like clear taps on a marimba, then more notes added in descending order, an answering call and then faster and faster to a crescendo, then silence.
A foghorn sounds from far out to sea, hinting at the day's weather. The smell of rain in the air, but still dry.
Random thoughts from across a lifetime. Walking along a hot tar road in summer, barefoot. The smell of figs in the afternoon heat. Children chasing each other around a pool. Cracking open pinenuts to get to the rich seeds inside that almost impossible to break kernel.
Tea? Water? Read? Sleep? Stroke the dog's head, lying close against me. Let sleeping dogs lie?
Phone alarm! What happened to the small hours of the night? Wasted with memories or precious moments of reliving them? Maybe.
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