a writer's notebook: "write a little every day, without hope, without despair" - isak dinesen
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Ocean
Today was perfect. I breathed in deeply the tangy salt-freshness of the ocean, while wearing the absolute minimum clothing possible. I dreamed of the impossible. I had my outta-bed-hair frizzed and whirred by the bluster that was driving the waves. I had the skin on my feet scoured by sea sand and tanned by the sun; now they are looking so healthy and smooth it's as if I'd lived on this beach as a bum for months. Then, when I was tired, I walked barefoot up to the house gulping in fresh air beautifully tinged with the giddying scent of frangipani blossom.
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1 comment:
sounds like perfection.
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