Cerulean Cape fingers in your mouth

the migratory birds had begun their flight south, towards the inland wonders which had never quite caught her eye. a thick black ribbon of them cut through the gold-and-grey washed autumn skies as she watched, perched there upon a rock.  they were one of the least interesting things around her though, this flock, and it was not long before she began to pick her way across the sands, the tide-cut rock at her back.
soon the sun would be below the horizon and the temperature would drop.  she should head home.  but she doesn't.  she can't explain why; the bay holds everything and everyone she cares for -- it houses her hopes and dreams.


alas, men are far more tangible than hopes and dreams.