The lapping of gentle waves, the surf . . . the life that longs for the shore . . . the breeze, the ripples, the moonlight upon the glassy crests . . . the mystery, the magic, and the eternal longing to sail the waters of The Whispering Sea.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Swathe in the tenor of the living air . . .
sconced in their supple songs. Bright kernels.
Happy hills, collared by clouds splaying sprinkles of gold across the sea above,
Stem our Hearts
in the Chrysalis - the bud between sunrise and our dream. Shore the surf In a merry scamper,