I heard a song when that day broke free from a wounded dove lying beneath a willow tree. Her coat was worn, tattered and dirty, but she must have known she would find a fool like me… to come wash her clean. and stitch up her seams. Then came the fall with the change of leaves. She had found her strength; she was leaving for the sea. I was waiting for this tragedy; then her wings got...
A lot of people attack the sea, I make love to it.– Jacques Yves Cousteau