• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 12
Image by

A Trancing Wake

Is that a life I see washed ashore? Or is that an aspiration mottled on a circle of hope?
Trancing in muted silence deeply in want of being wooed by the gurgles of crystal waters whilst storming inward a sea green potion of life, it would seem. But truth hardly bares itself in a tomb of ruminations.
Pressing not toward, yet lying still on a sunlit, sandy beach appears to be markers and pointers to an intersection of hope and despair.
Or perhaps a strangely liberating peace – spread just inches away from a promising shoreline somewhat mystified by a warm embrace of an aspirating foam – snuggled lavishly in a sunny world of flowing fins and curvy tails.