The sweeping movements of the wind against the palm trees, cutting and slicing, only oxygen, is soothing strange enough. It’s haunting, magical, and wonderful at the same time. It feels as if the wind has carried my worries along with it. My hair is thick, full of wind and tangles from the salty air. I have no desire but to sit and listen. There are trillions of sounds, and they never stop, constantly going, churning and swirling like the tides that roll in and out. Mummers of dialogue fill in the gaps of space or pauses. Pauses in which nature decides what its next move is going to be, because of course, nature is indecisive. The lights from the houses shine and glimmer in the moonlight. They are still, but filled with movement inside, the movement you can’t see. This place is a dream, a hidden paradise in which only a few humans who have souls can truly understand, because, once again, nature is misunderstood. The people who camp in the woods just to see a simple sunrise, they understand. The people who fish for hours and never catch anything, they understand. The people who hike a mountain and reach the top only to catch their breath and march all the way back down, they understand. These people understand. So why is it so hard for all the others?
(Photo taken by Vidra)