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Diminutive, in Comparison
Every year my husband and I go on a fishing trip. I usually use that time to think about life, things I’d like to change, and those things that I’d like to do. I don’t like fishing, but there’s something so magical about the bluish-green water rushing pass in a hurried state of excitement. And, the dead sand, in contrast to the water, allowed one to feel somehow superior to all organic matter. Though, this trip in particular, it was quite different. As I think back, I realize that this trip was not something one could easily forget. To those looking on, nothing extraordinary seemed to occur. What they saw was water, sand, small patches of greenery, and perhaps if one looked diligently, tiny brim playfully jumping and carousing. It was freezing; the hair on my entire body stood at attention like a cavalry of soldiers awaiting orders from it‘s commander. Nevertheless, there I sat, legs folded, like an eager pupil awaiting guidance. The strap of my sandal scornfully caused indentions on my inner thighs, but there again; I sat. The delicate air ran up and down the nape of my neck like cool breaths immersed with eucalyptus. Surprisingly, much like my own breath, after sucking a peppermint for awhile. With great delight, the sun peered over the vast sandy dunes. It appeared so majestic in comparison to myself. Overwhelmed by such beauty and magnificence, I began to feel the water through my veins, bringing me life. With each breath, I could taste the salt in that air. I realized that day, that a force grander than that of myself spoke to me. It spoke in ways that could only be felt.