Every day, a surfer paddles out to sea, in search of “the one,” that perfect wave. Day in, and day out; day in, and day out; a melody of surf and sea. Until one day, she catches a flawless barrel, and takes it on an unforgettable ride.
A man fishes in solitude; surrounded by a light fog. Hour after hour, time passes by; patience. Then, the rod snaps. As the reel spins, it hisses. The sun is a spotlight; the battle, a metaphor.
When we write, we leave behind a trail of ideas from a brief moment in time—like an inky footprint filled with meaning.
Snowfall in the city is a cozy blanket of peaceful reprieve; a momentary silence softening everyday commotion.
A soft splash gently breaks the water’s surface. In an instant, it disappears towards the ocean’s deep. Today, a feeding frenzy transitions into an afternoon nap. Tomorrow, back again. Only taking what it needs, and nothing more.
For days, a climber inches closer to the summit, to be the first atop its peak. Nothing ever seemed so close, yet still so far out of reach. Finally that fateful moment, the one in every climber’s dreams; a final step, exhale. In awe, the view of the horizon. She breathes.