I wish I could direct my dreams, if I could, I would travel to the seaside, or to a hilltop above a wood. I would look over at the setting sun. Red auburn hair of clouds wrapped round the bright orb. Wind blows streamers of air across the waves, or treetops, glistening light flickers over the boughs and branches. Gulls rise, then fall to roost. Night ascends, stars glint as shimmer. Sleep deepens. I doze.