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By SailingNick, Coarsegold, CA

desiccating heat hangs o'er
fields shimmering brown,
saline beads slide down
our brows, with flesh
itching, begging for
reprieve, we wait.
patience finally rewarded,
crunching gravel and
scorched pavement
stench steals in...
burning wind
rushes past
hills still brown, dotted
with spots of green...
smell of salt in the
air, oft sensed
now, is our
azure goal
finally, the horizon spotted,
white triangle littered, our
anticipation barely able
to be contained, we
ease backward,
the cool water
caresses us.
released from steely grip
we drift backward, and

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