Being a warrior isn’t needed, letting self be soft as the
sand or its piercing sting when hitting the skin. The hairs of the dunes are soft with the cunning wind
blowing, moving without any footsteps needed. Hesitation dissipates because the stance you hold is that of
a column. You bother not to walk
but allow your eyes to make all the foot steps in the sand. You’ll find the humps and contours of
the dune grass that build a new landscape by the hour. The Brown bold color of the sand echo
the implied nature of the season and its discharge of color palate, a find that
only compliments itself within the landscape of the Lake Michigan.
Hush-hush.
And the gushing noise of howling air cutting through one
another, the wind clashes as much as the waves break upon one another.
Rolling-rolling.
The green washed hue of the lake that mimics the sea like abyss
charm by it’s clamor by breaking of one wave- on another- repeating itself
again- and again.
A find is going on all in this moment of time, you feel as
if you are following something specific but once you feel you’re clinging to
something specific; its gone, follow that wind, sound, touch, and smell of this
seen.
Swimming in a moment of time.
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