That evening as she sat on the sofa eating scampi and chips, Deborah looked back on her first day in Rye. After running through the surf with Dougie, who now lay sound asleep on the cushion next to her, she had strolled along the beach for a while. There she came across a surfer who complimented her on her good looks. Even now it made her blush. How old was he, she wondered. Judging by the hints of grey in his dark hair that was beginning to thin out, she reckoned he must have been in his late forties, just like she was.
She grinned and then took a sip of orange juice, not remembering the last time a man had spoken such flattering words to her. Anyway, it felt good and did wonders for her self-confidence. Maybe this was the right time to start taking better care of herself? The thought had only just crossed her mind when she realized she had barely taken any food with her.
“Oh well,” she mumbled, “looks like we’ll be off to the supermarket first thing in the morning.”
Then she looked at Dougie. She enjoyed seeing him feeling so contented, and for one brief moment, she wished she could change places with him. That was until he began to snore. Funnily enough, it reminded her of the wind that had picked up late in the afternoon. This had pleased the surfers no end, and she had enjoyed watching them ride the choppy waves as if their lives depended on it. By the time she had walked to the chip shop on her way back home, the wind had reached storm proportions.
Right now, she could hear the wind howling as it swept around the little wooden house. She comforted herself with the thought that the house had withstood far heavier winds and would probably do so for many years to come. What was it with the wind, she wondered. The wind had fascinated her from a very early age. Sometimes it frightened her with its sheer strength, but mostly it felt as if it was beckoning her to follow it to some distant place beyond the reality of everyday life.
Then, all of a sudden, she remembered word for word what the wind had whispered to her in her dream last night: ‘Deborah your day will come. Be patient, it won’t be long now.’ It startled her to experience such clarity of mind. She had to admit that it even made her feel uneasy when she noticed the ‘goose bumps’ on her bare arms. She looked at Dougie and snuggled up close to him. Fancy seeking protection with a little dog, she said to herself giggling. She then put what was left of her meal on the living room table, wrapped her arms around a cushion and rested her head on the sofa.
Within seconds her eyes felt heavy and she fell asleep, thereby entering the realm of her subconscious mind. Wave upon wave of images flooded her mind’s eye as the sea outside thundered onto the beach again and again. Just as in her dream last night, she found herself standing in a field of wheat. She began to twist and turn to the rhythm of the swaying wheat stalks. Round and round she turned, barely able to remain upright, until she came face to face with a young man.
Instead of alarming her, he made her feel as if it was meant to be. The sight of the handsome man with dark brown eyes and long, chestnut coloured hair made her feel at home. Then he smiled the most beautiful smile she had ever seen and whispered something in an unfamiliar tongue. And although she did not understand a word he said, it made her heart glow with a deep feeling of love.
‘Fields Of Gold’ by Frisee Max on Freeimages.com
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