There is a spot on the beach where I watch the stars. The breeze is gentle and the air is warm over the sand, but I don't know why, because there's never been a sun to warm it.

The waves lap gently against the shore. This island isn't large, just a short walk under the stars, yet here is where I am. Where I've always been. Where I shall be. I lean across to put another log on the campfire. In protest it hisses and spits, voicing it's displeasure to the empty night, but takes flame nonetheless. I look away as my eyes readjust to the firelight.

A soft wind rustles the trees behind me, and I wonder what will wash up next. All sorts of things can end up here - broken things usually. Toys, charms, mechanisms and contraptions. But also people, and ideas too.

Where do dreams go when they are forgotten? I'm not sure, but some of them come here, washing up on my shores, poor things. Always alone, shivering with cold. Their light fades in to the night before they return to the sand, and there's nothing I can do for lost dreams. But others I can help. Some of the broken things I can fix. Not all. But some. The people who come here need safety, a moment's rest. Between the sea of stars and the whispering sand, here they can find it. And I am glad I can help them. It's all I can do to watch over what arrives on my shore - to pick them up, to hold them, to whisper encouragement in their ear. Everyone needs that from time to time, especially when they end up here. They need to sit down, dry themselves by the fire, and watch the stars with me, just for a moment in the dark.

I sit on my beach and watch my stars. The night is warm and the water is close. My island floats alone in a sea of endless dark. Here is my place, caught between past and future as an endless present. I put more wood on the fire and watch the smoke curl upwards in to the mirror-black sky.