Southwesterly, the wind,
the accumulated magnitude, the breath of the
tempest;
presses against the body of the rippled ocean,
drives it in mad waves onto rocks,
spume flung atop the cliff where we hover,
balanced with outstretched arms, with tugged coat
sleeves,
the wind with such strength:
we can calculate how to move,
how to fly in this unrelented howl:
if only we had wings.
No bigger than gulls:
flecks on rockscape.
Comments
Geo- we were walking at a place called Kynance Cove, very wild, very inspirational- you would have fitted in nicely there, laughing at the crash of the waves! Sometimes it just feels so liberating to be a tiny piece of the wonderful vast universe :-)
Thank you, Lily. Your writing dances upon the screen.
Gary
I love reading Geo's words in response to your own, L. Symphonic.
You seem to be unfurling further -- if at all possible!