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  • Jogging barefoot in the warming sun

    Toward a mountain of red wood, green fir and hanging mist

    I hunt for rocks like easter eggs along the coast of Crescent City.

    One by one, they suddenly appear under my wandering gaze, a flash of color glistening under salt water and wet sand...

    I can't help but pick them up.

    I love how they feel in my hands.

    I like to think that over time, life washes us smooth like these rocks, aging us just a little further, but never stealing us of our true color...

    If anything, we are made even more vibrant with each wave.
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