You wake up too late in the day, a world of orange specked with shade: A tent gone stuffy in the midday summer heat. Content to lie in a while listening to nothing in particular while fat blowflys drift lazily through the air outside. Climb a dune tonight to witness the stars in fantastic numbers, not hidden by the lights of the city. Below them rolls the tide in a timeless tribute to tradition. Returning once again below the tree-line where a small fire will shirk from the darkness while you sip cheap beer.
-Harmon y