Last night I dreamed of a place I have visited many times, but only in my dreams. It is a lovely stretch of unpopulated coastland with broken cliffs rising above the highway on the left and the unbroken sea sweeping to the blue, eternal verges on the right. I was driving the car this time instead of my husband, and I found the turn-off easily enough, but the ramp down to the glittering white beach was closed because of construction. To be more exact: the ramp was completely demolished and another one was being built in its place. To make matters even worse, every approach to the beach below was under some kind of renovation and was inaccessible.
So I bought a sack of doughnuts and strolled to an observation deck where a host of thwarted sightseers had gathered to watch the sunset. My husband brought his guitar and strummed a few tunes as I sang along. Many in the crowd of sightseers joined in. This sudden fellowship might have assuaged my disappointment at the loss of strolling the beach, if not for the group of raucous teens sitting at an outdoor table in the restaurant that had been built in front of the observation deck, obstructing most of the view.
Alas, progress has invaded my dreams and I find solace in doughnuts waking or sleeping.