by Shawnong

Hues of yellow and orange dance in harmony across the cloudless sky; worn, at the twilight of its day. But the cycle never ends. It spins and rolls and turns unrelenting, without a care of anything and everything around it. It just continues moving forward, going on.

My footprints follow behind me, a tangible symbol of my existence. My presence engraves itself into the innocent sand continually, without motive. Not in a bad way, just empty. Cycling.

The waves rush up shore. Its mood fluctuating imperceptibly, but consistent on the whole. Like anomalies on a graph, marginally off but still relevant. Slightly angry at times, happy, sad, excited, lonely. Cycling.

Some regions of sand are sated. They are thoroughly hydrated and reject any more moisture from the sea. Others, dry. Screaming. They absorb the water with aggression and you can see their thirst quenched immediately. But water exists in 3 forms, and will soon evaporate away, stripping away their moisture, their comfort. Cycling.

Gazing at the distance, a blanket of blackness covers my thoughts. Sending me into a quiet sleep. Another cycle. But this one actually has an end, and I won’t know when it ends.