Calenture

The sea plays tricks. Sailors on long voyages who couldn’t get away from the sea, they’d sometimes see hillsides and meadows, trees and green grass. They would have to be stopped from jumping over the side to run on the earth.
I used to live by the sea, but now I’m locked by land. Sometimes it’s hard to know where I am. I used to know where I could run away to, where the edges were. Even if you don’t want to run away, you’ll be happier if you know where your path is.
Last night, the outside smelled different, sounded strange. I walked across the unlit park, not scared, and looked out towards the silent blaze of nightshift supermarkets east of town.
Instead, I saw the shining of lazy waves. The sea had come to me. This was my place. I know the sea is not my friend, but nor is the land. At least if you have an edge, you have somewhere to stand.
This morning, the shops are back, and I can see housing blocks on the horizon again. But I’ve only got the evidence of my eyes to go on. As long as I stay where I am, I can’t be sure they’re not reflections, tricks of the mind, tricks of the sea.