A1A South

The world is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.

-W.B. Yeats

‘A1A South, the Atlantic Coast of Florida… the smell of salt in the air…’

The sun has completed its’ day’s work, evening tide, Helios rein in your trusted steeds, you’ve given the night the warmth it needs… the moons dance with the clouds has just begun as we play hide and go seek from the sun.  

A storm is brewing, falling in off the Atlantic, rain in the distance, moving from east to west of a jetty extending out from the shore, penetrating and dividing the water. The lightning, a spidery web of energy, electric veins of the night sky, counting the seconds until the thunder roars, 1001, 1002… the miles it must sprint until illumination. 

By the same author: The Tropic of Oz

The waves are wanting of my feet as they melt into the sand; I see a path of light on the surface of the water, guided by the moon’s reflection. It disappears, comes back into play, a lot like you, coinciding with the rhythm of the moon and clouds, the light and dark, the sacred and profane… wild heaven and all it will allow, in the heart of the night..

Guest Post by Jeff from An Unexpected Muse

___Jeff___	I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in October of 2012. Not long after that I started writing and in 2014 my blog was born…  An Unexpected Muse at… https://nimbus432.wordpress.com/

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