Last night I dreamt of the Oregon Dunes. People I love were there, and a giant seal, and I found my way back to the camp that was ours. Sandy sleeping bags and a huckleberry sunrise. The memory of the Wren Clan on Crescent Island, bushwhacking fox-trails of tangled light. We are small, wayfinder animals gleefully clambering among the bright oceans of sand, the winds of the sea.