Drift

Sometimes I have to go. I have to leave. I went to the ocean. Buff colored waves crashed below the sandy bluffs and could be heard from above. On the spit, waves broke as they reached shore, knocking together rocks, shuffling finer gravel, and fizzing/sizzling into the sand. A steady wind cooled my cheeks and lips, drying them, making them immune to discomfort. Happy Solstice!

seagrass

driftwood

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