I have walked barefoot in the red sands.

The Red Sands are made from and created by the constant pounding of the blue and white salt waves beating the rocks at shoreline, for forever.

It’s the winters that are long here freezing all in her path and it’s then and there that I long for the city.

I see things differently now than in my youth. Even the struggles here are gifts.

Dennis Mantin

She suffers from the indignity of self-mistrust. I have witnessed her torment along with my own.

I wouldn’t care… except now it is a debate as to which way this thing will go in the future.

I’m betting on a delusional insanity taking over all cognitive thoughts and expressions that won’t allow such awareness to even exist. Maybe in the moments just before the end the veil will be lifted allowing one final terrorizing horror for eternity.

The other possibility of course is an act of humility that would require at the very least a miracle and would possibly result in some sort of redeeming self reflection.

No one I know is holding their breath for the latter.

I feel so sorry for her now because she cannot help herself. This is what she is.

That’s right, I’m levitating now! Far above the rest of you mere mortals…

I don’t expect this will last long. Something will certainly bring me back to earth. Maybe Gravity?

She told me in her language her name means Cloud.

She changes like and with the wind. Hard to hold and impossible to pin down.

I don’t know why she intrigues me, but here I am.

She hates if I write about her.

The rains have left and the sun is shining brightly. There are only clouds in the distance There… Is that the past?