Trading Places

By Fran Scott

She dreams of arid lands where lizards roam free. Each night, after the clownfish babies have been tucked into their anemone beds, she ascends from the abyss.

Rising from the waters, she gently disentangles the sea snakes from her tresses, and then settles on the sand to moon-bathe. Her scales glimmer in the reflection of the night sky. With the wind caressing her mermaid’s tail, she hums a tune no less lovely than the sirens’ melodies.

Each night, the man standing high on the ethereal cliff top listens and dreams of growing gills, and descending to where his heart breathes freely.