Semi-Daily Scribbles

Salt air slid down the back of Zoë’s throat as she picked herself up off the moist turf. She looked around and felt the sting of isolation. She was on a high bluff, with the ocean below and a stand of tall trees at her back. Zoë had a flash of awareness, a sudden recognition of being in the right place. She would have been surprised had she not found her way to the sea. Whitecaps churned for miles toward the horizon. This was a western reach of wilderness. There were no markings of man to indicate the age of the world. The scenery was open to all possibilities. Zoë remembered the kiss that brought her to the edge of the cliff. She had fallen through mist and hissing winds, but her lips were still warm from the voyager's farewell. Zoë draped a hand on her chest and counted the two sets of galloping beats competing against the roar of water breaking on rock.