*Goa*

My eyes close. Wind chimes softly sing out their dreams, plunking soothing sounds against the restful walls of my small cabana. The thick, warm air is a humid blanket which soothes my mind and my soul into gentle submission. The smell of the air is sweet, flavored with incense and a tender potpourri of tropical foliage. The sounds from the chimes follow the rhythm of my heart and my breath. My eyes open.

Each blink is an eternity. Placid, midday light warily spills down from the window sill, dancing across the aged, wooden floorboards. Sand, white as it appears in dreams, rises up between the floorboards and sparsely blankets the ground. The daylight, fragmented by the window, sparkles off of the salty grains. A pair of white curtains flutters slowly in the breeze casting an intermittent haze over the soft, dreamy glow of the sun. My eyes close. My eyes open; an eternity.
Shadows mingle on the sheets of my bed, slithering down onto the floor and across the room. I lie awake, sprawled comfortably on a thinly outfitted single bed. The small, roughly circular shack is crafted almost entirely of wood. The warm colored cedar is warped and peppered with stains due to years of exposure to various sources of smoke. The walls are bare, but for their naturally decorative knots and cracks. The floor too, is quite bare. My small bed and side table made of bamboo and woven wicker occupy much of the space. On the opposing wall, is a small cabinet of the same craftsmanship with a mirror mounted on its counter-top. A small wood-fire stove stands stoutly next to it.
I pull my right hand from its stillness, and softly flutter my fingers over my eyes. The sunlight finds its way softly between my fingers and paints white fragments of light on my tired face. I bring my left hand up to mimic its movements. I smile. My day is just beginning.
The music of the chimes finds its way inside and steps across the cabana like a tiny insect across water. The invisible ripples of sound ebb and flow around the room and drown my thoughts. I pull myself up and sit at the edge of the mattress. I ruffle my hair and toss on a pair of thin, white cotton pants. I stand and slide-step across the floorboards, rolling my feet over the loose sand. I swing open the door inviting a flood of sunlight into the cabana. My eyes squint and adjust in the blazing morning. The sea air fills my nostrils with a fresh, salty scent as I step out onto the beach. I spread my arms wide and lean my head back, looking to the blue above and letting out a sigh.
The unfathomable green of the Atlantic Ocean is a true thing of beauty. Every time I wake, it's as though I am laying my gaze upon it for the very first time, and every time I wake, it steals the very breath from my lungs. I stride through the snowy sand toward the gentle waves of the water and light a smoke.
I remember the sky, through much of my life, being icy white with a perpetual winter chill frozen endlessly into every molecule of its atmosphere. It spreads over me now, here, rich with summer and free of cloud as far as I can see and it has stayed that way for as long as I can remember and as long as I will know free of the changes of time. The sand is warm beneath my feet, but cool enough to stand upon comfortably. The sound of the waves, the ocean's perfect rhythm; I often think that simple roll of the tide may have one day been man's inspiration to create music inviting him to mimic its naturally aesthetic sound.

Learn more about this author, Conor Watts.
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