The Sunday Whirl

Image from Unsplash

The flickering reflective line from the bright sun danced on the waves, almost seen as a bundle of dropped stars. So radiant the sight, my eyes were immersed in a temporary blindness. The sandy beach was a perfect meander among driftwood and sea contoured stone, and the taste of salt was felt on my tongue. The false drama of a floating ghost ship appeared; only a mirage in the sun shone water. I wondered what idol ancient beachcombers imagined as they also visioned the ocean’s portraits.

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