when i awoke this afternoon, i realized to my dismay that i was not tangled in a sea of kelp, that my tail was not already swimming me along, and that the only salt to my skin was sweat.

granted this did make getting out of bed and walking to the fridge a little easier, but still...not what i had wanted.

i'd dreamt in 30 shades of blue last night, each distinguishable and calming in a special way. under the water, even my skin had an azure iridescence that sparked with life, not a corpse or frozen blue, the blues we expect to see on human flesh. i shimmered with tiny aquatic currents in and over me.

and there was silence. no cars or horns or alarms or phones. no screaming or crying or argered outbursts.

everything was soft, gossamered and muffled. quick flashes of light created by reflections off fast turning fish. and the rock of the water, distant from surface and shore, was a mother swaying her child to a lullaby.

the nose that nudged me awake was not that of a dolphin, but my dog. she looked disappointed, as if she too had hoped to wake with gills. i hugged her, kissed her soft seal-like face and told her 'soon, baby. soon'.