Trickles of Sand and Time

Sitting alone I breathe in the briny atmosphere as it congeals into an aerosol breeze. The sun hovers high above illuminating with supernatural precision. My feet sink separating the individual digits of my toes. A heightened feeling of granular deposits spontaneously carry electrical concern throughout my nerve endings, firing synapses until it rouses the senses of my subconscious. A relevant force drives to collapse mind and matter, blending until curiosity is untapped and exploration unravels.

The wind blows invisibly wholesome, and yet visible with the most spectacular potency. It floats hazily while it caresses and kisses the ocean, breathing exhausting nothings to the atmosphere. A hydrophilic marriage as ocean responds with ferocious crackling, serene with complete voraciousness in its domain. Cresting and clashing with unequivocal force, its energy soothingly sculpts and makes a martyr of the land. The sand is heavy and dark, enduring as its punishing brother recedes only to rise again, bestowing infinite blow after blow. It sends a glittering code to the great sphere as it twinkles back light that was so generously given. It absorbs all organic life, warming each elemental abstract. Everything lives without ever confronting death. Time is forever in this time capsule, freely trickling into a cohesive autonomous mix. My mind melds with the thud of my heart as my body and senses melt. All flows within, and molds me back into existence. At peace I fall, devoured by a vortex that vacuums me into my surroundings. I am no more, I am forever, I am Patea.

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