He observes your brow crinkling, just a little, enough to reveal to him an expression of confusion.

“What can you hear?” He soothes, shifting his line of enquiry.

“Waves, gentle and calm”

“And what can you see?

“Hmm, the sun is low, and yet the air is warm. My skin is smooth, sun kissed, bronze-brown. My bones feel supple, filled with the heat of a long and lazy day.”

“Are you alone?”

“No. He’s here. He’s gathering drift wood. He’s dug a fire pit in the sand. The fire is lit, and he’s gathering more fuel, before the light fades and the air cools.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. just us. This island is ours.

“Have you been here before?”

“Yes, many times.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I’d like to take a swim, one last one before the sun touches down onto the horizon.”

“That sounds lovely, could you describe how it feels?”

“The sand is soft, dry and hot, the heat stings my bare feet as I step toward the water. But now the sands are cooler, where the waves have reached up over the sugar smooth grains. They’re glistening in the light, ground crystals shimmering like glitter.”

“These soggier sands indent beneath my footsteps, leaving a trapper’s trail behind me. The tide foams and fizzes as it finds my toes. The shallow water, as warm as a bath.”

“The water feels so good, covering my feet and climbing my calves. The sunlight is softening, sinking between white clouds, so distant on the horizon, and tinged with pink and gold.”

“The shallow waves are lapping, so intimate and gentle, their sound as soothing as their touch. They’re swelling around my thighs, my hands dangle down beside me, the warm water dragging at my wrists, as the tide slips in and out between my legs and stretches out over the soft swathes of rippled sand sinking beneath my feet.”

“Another step and the next wave washes up over my hips, circling my waist with warm water, and suggesting I could soon allow my legs to just let go, and leave my body to float on the tide.”

“My knees give, and the welcome warm water lifts me, I let myself fall into her and she carries me.”

“I turn my back on the soon to be setting sun, turning my attention further up the beach to where I can see him finishing his gallant, gathering efforts, having built a supply of drift wood, sufficient for the night.”

“Does he know you’re watching him?” Your doctor asks.

“He does.”

“And what do you want him to do?” He invites you to wonder.

“I want him to come into the water with me.”

“So, what’s he doing now?” He asks,

“He’s looking straight at me. And at my back I can feel the sun about to touch the Ocean’s horizon behind me. The light is changing. In this light he as if he’s cloaked in a halo of gold.”

“He’s unbuttoning his white linen shirt. Laying it over the wood he’s collected. And now he’s slipping his shorts down over his thighs.”