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The plain white sands of the beach stretched out like the capital of some foreign country, forever before you, the lover of the realm, yet everything close as the lapping blue waves. Our house above in the cove held a memory of reading a book, nestled in a hammock of simple summer breezes, navy and white striped cushions, and Borges’ stories.
As night came drifting through space, a beautiful evening storm with fiery peaks lit up the deep in bright blue flashes, and even the sea mammals darted under the waters in playful response. Sometimes the waves splash in the break over the farthest deck, hanging gardens of sapphires and I can see it from here.
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CD: Hanging Gardens
Label: Billy Hale Music
Credits: Billy Hale |
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