A Dream of the Beach

It is as it sounds... Duh :')

The unfettered land of dreams, indeed what a curious place. The other day while roaming through sunlit dales and amidst craggy stones standing lonesome in the windswept plains I saw before me a magnificent shoreline. 
Far as the eye could see it stretched, further than the horizon, the hushing dancing green grass kept from the swirling blue of the infinite deep by a wall of soft gritty white. 
I stepped upon the shore, delighted by the soft warmth into which my feet had sunk and set out upon the golden road. Wither and whence I went I knew not, for it does not matter in dreams. As I suppose too... It doesn't really matter in flesh. 
For many a languid hour I walked along the shore of dreams, following the Sun, devouring the salty breeze. Occasionally I would wade over mountainous dunes in whose shallows I found piles of bone and shell. The gloriously fashioned, thrice tubed spinal column of a sea bird lay next to a multitude of curling empty winkles. Mermaids ears, the abalone shells with their glistering radiant coats lay, like priceless jewels, half buried in the dunes. Dried sponges and seaweed too, in whose still-damp depths roamed skittering crabs and still stranger denizens of the shoreline. Sand flies flitted on the occasional fish and once, the unfortunate carcass of a baby seal. Its blubbery flesh all pale and its eyes long since glazed. Without the vitality of life it was to be picked clean by the scuttering, wriggling, buzzing legions of the sands. Jellyfish a plenty sat like navy blue bubbles, or rather, like small dejected balloons on the sand.

Sometimes the wind would pick up and the sand would flit and sting my shins and knees. But it did not matter in dreams. I kept on and on after the Sun along the endless shore. Wither and whence did not matter. Sometimes I happened across beautiful monasteries of rock, volcanic I like to think. In whose craggy and wonderful depths I found the bountiful caress of sticky, slippery life. Polyps and urchins, crabs and fish haunted the rocky causeways. Algae and weeds of innumerable description, elegantly ruffled and rubbery grew here and there like draping vine and velvety grass. Monstrous crabs creaked their subtle way in the crevices and cracks. Octopi and, again, once a spotted eel of wonderful resilience did gawk at me with their strange dumb eyes. So alien and cold yet so full of wisdom and the taste of something more. Something untouched by man. Rude seagulls did flap and cry and call all about. Feasting on the bounty of trapped fish and arthropod.

After a long while of climbing, slipping and examining I was once more on the golden road. Free from the strange sweet land of the black rock. In the distance a pendulous storm had grown. Its grim face leering over the road, betraying its magnificent power. Against this desolation it looked immense. The fury of the sky would soon bleed onto this, this beach of life...