“For here the lonely water sits like warped glass, the trees creak, and the unpromising wind blows always…” - Journal Excerpt (me)

Reaching the shore of the quiet inlet I stood and admired the water.  To fill that space, to cut into the shore so relentlessly but patiently, to commit itself to that kind of chore was, well, admirable.  The grey sky passed over, and with darkened grace the clouds moved along the horizon, only to disappear below the somber mountains.  I witnessed then something that I had never seen, or perhaps never noted - The sky was moving faster than anything that gripped the landscape in front of me.  And in it’s pace it told a tale of the landscapes that fell once before it, and the ones that were to come.  It mourned for the night sky it could never reach.  That sky where the moon shined and revealed the things beyond it; beyond the stars, beyond the black stuff and the things unseen or printed in science articles and Nasa reports.  And in its hopeless pursuit it asked only to be witnessed.  For here the lonely water sits like warped glass, the trees creak, and the unpromising wind blows always.

photo from: arousable.tumblr.com