Wheeling Gull Isle iii. awaken

this was where she came to life.

not just one the day her blood had met soil, but today too. she is not a wisp. she is chatting and she is vibrant. he thinks of the coyotes who had sung and spoke in words he thought he might never understand. he thought of the bear, carefree with its plucked berries and how it delighted in the meal.

he thought of himself.

not as miserable makan, not as a haunted shadow.

but as cobalt. brilliant and shining cobalt. polished and cleansed by blue, by the saltwater and fresh island. he cannot speak but he is radiant. grinning and windswept. wild and free.

worries had not crossed the sandbar with them.

he is running off towards a field, hoping she will indulge him.