poetry, writing

The Hammock

Sunlight pierces through the oak tree branch into my sunglass covered eyes. The leaves dance about, their shadows breaking up the beams. I pull my cap back down over my eyes.

The mating song of the blue herons clack from a nearby islet in the lake. Clickity-Clickity-Clak-Awk-Awk, repeating over and over again. A pair of cardinals sing out and call to each other.

A gentle breeze crosses the lake, gently swaying my hammock, lulling me back to sleep. I drift off to dream of beaches and mountains and distant travels.

Visions of wonderful adventures fill my dreams. Each journey unique and awe-inspiring, filled with good memories. A brief vision of a handsome face flashes before me, smiling my way.

Then the skies turn dark in my dream. I am rocking back and forth viciously. I hold on for dear life. I feel wetness on my face and skin. I hear my voice tell me to wake up and follow my heart.

Finally, my eyes open and I look up. Rain begins to pour from the sky. I jump out of the hammock and run for cover. Soaked through, I find shelter until the storm passes.

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