By Dave Ursillo on Dec 30, 2010
(This is a comprehensive review of my 2010. Read the first installment here.)
The warm salty winds that raced to shore atop white-capped waves but months ago have since frozen over.
The gale bites now, spiting exposed skin that in turn curses the relentless breeze.
To gaze upon the bobbing loons, though, they hardly seem to feel the difference. The wind is the wind all the same. I count forty-six and perhaps three more in the distance.
A hint of cool salt garnishes the air; these cleansing winds. They know not the past, they think not of the ‘morrow, …
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