Can't sleep, worried about tomorrow. I don't hear the bell buoy but the waves are loud. A light is flickering just enough outide to make my eyes want to be open. It is up near the hill, odd enough, not from the water.

I am thinking of dream places of places to escape and now they are gone to me. Wooded paths I would run down in the moonlight to the water and sometimes in, crescent beaches where I sat for hours looking for beach glass. The world ignored me in my hours there and then all of a sudden the place was overrun with ghosts.

My mother tells a story about swimming with a seal in Folly Cove. This year she hasn't been in the ocean once. Her eyes don't look out longingly at the water; they are like the water looking carelessly back at the shoreline. I wonder what that seal took from her. What was the trade-off for that swim?

What will I do when tomorrow falls apart? I would like to be able to go back to that beach, take the same path down. Are the ghosts still there? I haven't checked in so long. I am sure the rocks have been moved by storms since then. The ballroom, the split rock, sunset and sunrise. Do urchins still fill that crack? I once found a Christmas tree washed up on the rocks. I stood it up, trunk wedged between two granite boulders. It stayed there for months.

When I was five I walked in my sleep from my room to the antique store my mother owned, just next store and now the bookstore I work at. I curled myself up in a wrought iron crib and slept there until morning. Another time I ended up in the hammock hung between two weeping willows in the back yard. I haven't walked in my sleep since.