A surge of waves in an open sky, it caresses the earth countless times, sighing through valleys and raging along seas.
The ocean swallows the ensnared sun as the damp sand tries with my feet. A plump woman gathers the seashells nearby, unmindfully tossing new found treasure in a hard and crowded bucket.
Flurries of wind carries snow specks inside as the man pulls the door shut.
When I heard the learned astronomer, when the proofs, the figures, in columns before me...
The news surged through the office like a wave flooding a sand castle. “Jim’s dead,” a colleague told me before the morning coffee.
It’s an annual conference with an unusual boardroom. I smile, leaving my Oxfords against a pale stone as sunlight itches my nose instead of fluorescent rays.
Willows droop their branches, like martyrs at my grave. Though a child of royal blood, I am a prisoner of circumstance.
I treaded carefully in the snow. The target struggled, its limbs branching wildly before it abandoned any hope of freedom.
Sparks settle far along the fields below me. The light lingers for a moment, dims, then sizzles out as small puffs of smoke rise.
The entrance to the walking trail is framed by overgrown bushes.