[For a short time many years passed I experimented with a poetic prose. Never quite satisfied with the result, I nonetheless post some here to gather opinions.]
The sky is magnificent to the west, pink and orange swirled into violet, then darkness. A few tufts of carnation white sprinkle the rainbow sky, scattered about at the magistrations of a salt mist breeze. It plays havoc with my hair, this breeze, gentle but playful in its caress. The few shoreside firs which rise between me and the sea appear solely as two dimensional façades in black. Only their movement clarifies their identity. I came to the sea to drink of its beauty, to taste its treasures, perhaps to gain enlightenment from its wisdom.
I maintain an odd group of companions; agates, shells, pieces of wood all rest happily beside, taunting me that this time I was alone in my hauntings dances upon the sands. They do not understand that companionship for all levels of existence does not come so easily if one is not a stone within the sea, merrily passing existence with so great a throng of friends.
Do I need too much? Or am I simply more aware of what there is, let alone can be?
I look out over the ocean, a great fire burning itself out upon the horizon, and know I am at peace, happy. But I am not so peacefully happy as I but recently was; a fact I have been chasing away like a gull after my lunch. I sit here at sunset, a day upon the sands--granted treasures, speaking with the wind--because I thirst endlessly.
There is a saying, “Dress me slowly because I am in a hurry.â€
So I sit here impatient, slowly sipping on memories of you.
