Walking down the path from the dune through the sharp hair pinned grass that moves by the motions of the wind. The light isn’t trapped here it breathes from the sky ambient orange-blues-greens, envious light that can cast silhouettes of its passengers here.
The sound found here carries the lakes ominous fleet of
feeling of sand and drought.
Everything is hushed by the howling of the wind that whistles a leafless
tune of shadows night. Another
city can be found across the skyline that pronouncing Lake Michigan.
A place of destination filled with lights and troublesome
wind.
The throwing of waves, splashing its water beneath its
creeping yet vast body of grinding rocks an stone that has been turned into
bountiful ashes of pebbles and sand filled with timeless space. The ground has many forms of mass it
courses with a grinding ting of still but bountiful coldness. A tranquil space
were ones breath can’t be heard through the cavities of the body. The feelings of being looked upon by
nature, unscathed in judgment.
Many tumultuous thoughts are carried and left here: by night.
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