Time Holding Its Breath

The salty taste lingers from tasting the sour soul. He ran and ran and finally got away to a wigwam on the beach.

Now he looked at the crackling fire under millions of stars, feeling the insignificance so many others felt under the endless sky. Far off where the horizon breaks, lightning struck. It looked like a tempest from the coast. Probably was. The salty sea air came in strong, in a hurry. Soon the storm would approach but he had confidence in his brown-hide covered wigwam. Inside there were candles to read things he wrote. In the corner there were ornaments made from beach wood and rock.

The fire shone bright and mighty. The warmth gave a feeling of security. Warmth does that kind of thing; like baby ducks covered and safe from the world we, at the end, must adapt to. We shape it but as much as it wants to be shaped.

The wind picked up. It howled through the night. A couple yards off you can hear the forest animals run for further covered.
He, however, stayed in the wigwam at the beach. He liked it there. No need to leave.

Lightning and thunder dominated. It was a deafening will of power from Nature. He started to wonder if he was going to make it.
For no reason, he began to take inventory of his things. There were 12 spots in the inner hide, 3 books, 14 pieces of dry wood, 2 bananas, 2 cloths for covering while sleeping, 1 hole to store things and 2 large spears. In the corner lay 5 stone pieces and berries of different colors.

The tempest had left the ocean, the storm grew stronger inland. The maddening whistle of the wind was barely audible through the thunder. Night turned into day. The burst of lightning made the beach into a giant Christmas tree. He laid there and fell alseep.