I had what seemed like a dream, a vision perhaps, of a time gone by. In it I stood on a beach, the benign, warm sun on my head, watching the sea emit an endless assault of foamy waves against our brave little sand castle. We had laboured all morning with buckets and spades on shell-studded walls, turrets and moats, and now stood waiting for the tide. Nearby, Fiona lay under our beach umbrella reading some irrelevant yet engaging bestseller. She noticed me staring, looked up and waved. I nudged the girls and we all waved back, smiling and whooping gleefully like the little children we were.
I was happy, truly, deeply, blissfully happy, as never before, but the moment did not last, and the waves did come, eventually knocking down our little fortress of contentment. The vision faded but my heart was strangely encouraged.
