It’s late afternoon in this dream. The day has been quite hot, so the rocks we’re sitting on are still warm. The maple trees are in full green, and their flowers are almost done, dropping all over the beach, as are the Arbutus. The peeling trunks and the mottled ones lean over us where we lean together, waving their leaves at the sky that’s changing colours from blue to red-purple. The water reflects the sinking sun as it moves through the bay, lapping and sucking at the rocks we’re perched on. My feet are in the water and I watch as the crabs forage at the edges of my feet for whatever particles thy find interesting there. A bullhead lurks in a small depression he’s made in the shell-sand that’s collected in this little pocket. Two starfish struggle in slow motion for the edible insides of an oyster smashed earlier by I-don’t-know-what. The wind is warm on my bare flesh and I watch the golden hairs on your arms ripple in its caress. There are no other sounds than the breeze and the water and we are lulled by it. In the branches above us, a Kingfisher cries once and then takes flight.