call me crazy, but 2 days of the ocean are worth a week of sick. well. kind of.
you run in and in and fly out sometimes in the zen of potential death. a slow down ode to all that's greater. fearless in the white water and foam. need no wings to soar. prodigal child feeding grease fire. blaze and burn. almost tirelessly running on top of the water till seamen's legs take over and there's no firm ground. even stone still the waves still crash through the night. like riding the universe.
