high tides.

As far as the soles of my feet were concerned, I was approaching the coast, for with every step the dampness showered my toes. The matted feel of the sand and its more than frequent pebbles appropriated the mass of my attention, dispersed only by the ebbing tide and a few pique notes of debussy. The heat of the sun bleeding through the depth of my shirt, spreading its warmth along my posterior. Salt and fish poured forth readily, rushing through my nose, firing synapse after synapse. The rush etched its way into the sounds of the tepid breeze, streaming through the endless infinite. Brown pastel patches tone the perplexing water. With each pass the curvature of the glass water magnified those sand and particles from under its passage. White and grey feathured sentinals peck and take caution of the domain. Looking up, the lush and lively cresent of the distant shore winked at me with assured recognition. The houses along its breadth played with my heightened imagination. Gouges from the stony beach made precarious locations to sit. As I sweep my eyes to the left, the sharp and pronounced metal remained rusty and unmovable, trying to hide the imperfection of its descending slope. On the lit up grass, an elderly couple still caught up in youthly love share notes of separate novels, leaning pleasantly into each other's forms. There's too much to notice. The world is an ocean of molecules, each drop a moment to fixate and relish in its unique beauty. The positioning of their feet, crossed and bathed in photons, photogenetic nourishment from Apollo. A wheaping willow, behind my back, crouched in its reach for the sky. Bent in posture, destined to appreciate only the ephemeral passings of love and irreparable heart break under its hulk. From the green crescent protrudes a few deadened hands, captured in death, suffocated from below by a hearty litter of reasons. I always wonder why others don't think as I do, a unique wave. The spectrum of our capacities is vast and oh too real. We range from pebbles to mountains. Will the ill of intelligence bring us to shambles?