You decide you need a change. Your sources too familiar and losing their sense, you’ve felt the urge before to seek out other waters, novel waves and currents to move you. To explore strange new words. To seek out new points of view and new metaphors. To boldly … So your party beaches and …



… not far from this bank, and you leave the sand to follow a canyon into the watershed. The floor–a mostly dry stream bed– is rocky, dark, and narrowing except you imagine this might lead somewhere. Rumors speak of a great sea with new promise: miraculous people in’t! and strange creatures. Oh brave new world.



After a trek, the canyon opens to hillside, and locals point the way although their language is strange and they have no fingers at all; you imagine you understand their directions.



On a ridge you see what was before only rumored: immense rollers unusually smooth.



Alas, signs turn you back. You speculate it’s too soon to sail or surf these seas. They’ll remain there, frozen billows awaiting the next foray. Those waters, like a witch’s oils, shimmer green, and blue and white. Other preparations, slanted fittings-out must be first.



You’re relieved your conveyance, undisturbed, awaits to return you to the bustle in the port down south.



All fotos by Will Van Dorp