Yesteryear Fiction

Dreams of Sand and Solace
By E.S. Wynn


The rhythm of her feet in the sand is what keeps me alive. The cinnamon rise and fall, the darkness veiled in every shift and shiver. The rose of her lips whispers sweet, waterless words, fills my dreams with the scent of rain, haunts me as I make my way through the medina to see her. Like a mirage, her veil falls away in my mind, and on our wedding night, I press her into golden sheets as soft as layered honey, taste the nectar of desert flowers. In my dreams, there is nothing between us, and I often wonder, when she catches my eye in the throes of the dance, if she has the same dreams that I do.


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E.S. Wynn is a simple man. He doesn't like complications. The same in music. He likes what is natural. Weave what the music demands, and he’ll try to do his best.