It could be summer.
If it weren't for my scarf, boots and jacket this sky, sun and ocean could be in the middle of January.
A biting July breeze tugs at my skirt as I walk along the crisp white shoreline reminding me of the season and keeping my feet firmly planted on the ground of winter. There is so much that my heart wishes to forget yet these inspiring Tuesdays seem to keep my head on track no matter what happens in the days between. I never bore of the thundering surf soundtrack week after week these fleeting visits afford me.
The sky and the ocean compete for my articulation of them. I need a new word for blue.
Cadmium, Indigo, Aquamarine, Sapphire, Turquoise, Teal, Celeste, Azurro and Thalassi – they pale in comparison with this level of colour.
As the sun sets over Surfers Paradise in the distance, the pink glisten washes over the sunset canvas like sleeping horizontal stars trying to wake up and sparkle onto a lower sky. The consistent undulation of pounding waves tall and voluptuous, rock to the earth’s rhythm unheard by my ears but felt in my body with their every swirl and break on the shore.
How much are these precious hours worth to me?
What do I lose?
What do I gain?
What is the message that this landscape tries to deliver week after week that holds me so intoxicated and so in awe?
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