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Roberta Veenstra
And even the gulls are quiet, in this somber, grey place today. The clouds, the colour of fading denim hold the memory of sparkling water and meld into the ocean, the colour of faded denim holding the memory of azure sky. The wind, not a breeze, - which is reserved for bright, sunny days – moves with melancholy swiftness, neither lifting leaves nor depositing sand. Waiting to play with you a concerto of sound. The waves, today hiding the crashing surf of tomorrow, yet neither lapping, moving forward in a steady symphony - like the rippling of grain – easy and gentle on the eyes. In this place of the wild, neither storming nor tamed, find a moment’s peace long enough to last. |
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