Big Sur
Loose pebbles tumble in downward descent.
The crashing splash of ocean erodes rock
and cliff, louder with each crunching step.
Blue water appears still in the distance
but thunders with color when witnessed.
Who knew that water had edges:
white, foamy, green, and veined like skin.
Spittles of salt coat my hair and hands
like evidence of an oceanic battle.
2 thoughts on "Big Sur"
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I love the turn of “Who knew that water had edges:” and then the s-sounds of “Spittles of salt”
Wonderfully conjured scene, Carina! You put me there.