Crispy wind flows through my arms and down my back.
Crash, waves. foamy sea, high on slick crags. Uneven rocks, winding dirt.
Desert flowers. Snapping sounds, tapping feet, rhythmic pulse and oxygen surges. Lungs sting and pull in sweet air. Birds, you point out, are giving us a soundtrack this morning.
We are part of it, the dirt is pulling us in and releasing us back. It is slighlty comfortable.
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