| Abstract: | I love to watch you fish with your feet firmly planted in soft sand and your long legs spread solidly above them. Your pole tilts away from your body and rises into a sky that is like denim jeans that have been washed too often. Ocean waves spend themselves at your feet and tap your strong profile quietly as they absorb you into their rhythm. I admire your familiar but sacred union with nature. Mountain cliffs reach down to the wet sand and embrace your presence because you are that place. You become a quiet stretch of beach that others rarely find their way to. You're the wet sand, the ocean, the wind, the scent, a wave rolling toward dark, wet boulders lining the shore. Your solitary surrender to nature always has soothed and nourished my admiring eyes, but one day it wasn't enough just to be a vicarious observer. |
