Kate,
Winds whip down the path that runs thru the dunes. Sandfiddlers scurry around, keeping their tunnels clear of the blowing sand. Two feet slip out of my room. They walk out my front door. Down my street. The feet find their way through the dunes and into the cool three a.m. ocean, kicking and playing in the gray waves. The feet retrace their route and slip back inside. In the morning I find the sand in my bed and the salt on my lips, but the feet have walked back out my door again.
-Adele