He stood at the waves, watching them attempt to lap over his boots. Each wave seemed to have a different amount of will power, after that was spent they retreated.
Very few had the strength to reach the top of his boots, often giving up too soon.
The waves were so unlike the clouds, which never gave up completely. The clouds always tried, no matter how much weight they carried.
But the clouds got the chance to change, from grey to pink or white to orange, and the waves remained the same.
The clouds were closer to the sun, he thought, closer to the light.
The waves came fron the dark depths of the ocean, bringing the lack of enthusiasm with them.
Above Rhiw, currently a sillhouette, gold spread behind steel grey clouds.
The sand to his left, ripplely like the sea intented it to be that way, also reflected the marigold light.
Few scenes had intrigued him as much as this one, which may not have particular beauty, but it still held his attention.
STAI LEGGENDO
Not Deserving Of Their Own
Narrativa generaleShort ideas that don't fit into my other books, but don't deserve their own stories. Or general things that i wrote because feelings.
