People speak of flying dreams. They speak of being untethered; so free. The dreams where I wake in a happy sweat, wanting nothing so much as to go back to sleep for more, are dreams of surfing. Body surfing. It is a form of freedom, but not the same, I imagine, as flying; it is the freedom of catching whatever waves takes me, a perfect rider on a perfect ride, in a floating balance. The safe shore I know will arrive is merely a launching pad. Shore-landed, I want only to swim out to catch it again.