"A blog is to a writer what a canvas is to an artist." ~ Colleen Redman

The Spell of Siesta

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I found my poetry on Siesta Key, on the pastel petite shell shore where the tourmaline gulf water turns confectionary white sand to mocha gray.
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The gulls are greedy. The scent of salty breeze is of kelp. Sifting through the finely ground out-of-this-world white powder, I look but cannot find the slightest pebble. Occasionally I come across the bump of a tiny buried shell.
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Divided by silence and loud roaring surf, miles of flat beach and sea melt into each other. Sunsets on the oceanside feels like the other side of the world. The shore is a clean slate, a place to walk, think no thoughts, lose your identity, or meet the real you.
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At night residents and tourists come out to watch the sunset. Dressed in coats to protect them from the wind and the recent cold snap, they gather on the white sand that looks like snow on tundra or like frozen canals in Holland.
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The evening light cast a lavender glow. If I didn’t know better I’d be convinced that the world is flat, that the sun, a soft boiled humpty dumpty, has fallen off the horizon’s edge.

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