He dreamed of a summer’s day, in Spain, near a tumultuous sea, over which the sun fought and won a battle to color the spirits below. There was a party that travelled on and off the cobbled streets to beach and glen and back again, colored banners marking the route of revelry.

They were already beautiful, but they were rendered more so, luminous even, by the sun, and as they twisted their bodies around they glistened, golden and brown, bronze statues blessed with the breath of life.

There was music playing, a combo, several songs at once somehow rising in harmony to meet a crescendo near the blazing disc in the sky. They would twirl with their hands in the air, and tilting their heads back, steal a second’s glimpse at the brightest star.

It all seemed to fill them with euphoric energy, and that party lasted into the next day and night, and as he’d joined in somewhere along the way, he wondered if the dream would ever end, or it it was even a dream at all.

-Danny Grosso