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Thursday, November 13, 2008

Morning Walk

"Yellow and red run together,
to make a glowing orange,
like watercolors washed
across west coast fog,
teasing the depths of
water blue."

I walked silently along the damp coastline, my bare feet sinking every few steps into the cold sand, so bright against the shadowed forest wall. With every gust of ocean air the trees swayed a little further to each side their groans like a mid-day yawn, all swayed except the eagles tree. Its bark grayed and peeling, barley covers its thick trunk, it takes four of my uncles to hug it properly. I smile, my lips cracking, as I remember games of hide and seek with portly city cousins, all of us being able to hide behind that eagle's tree. The eagle is just returning as I sit on the driest piece of driftwood I can find, he is old now but still powerful and majestic. After finishing his freshly caught breakfast he takes to the swirling winds and battles his way around the corner and into the next bay. Quickly the sky begins to change, the dreary fog of night lifting to reveal the sun's first rays as they tentatively peek over a heaving horizon. Slowly my mind becomes once again aware of time and I unwillingly rouse myself and retrace my sunken steps back to my mothers house atop the secluded west cliff, I can see it from here, the blue and white looking as if they were plucked straight from a photo of Greece. I smile again, wincing as the wind stings my chapped lips, and sigh as the reality of a new day slowly sets in.

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