The Race

The race;

in the laudability of time, one racer looks deep into the distance, looking to capture the barely visible horizon, blurred by the gathering amorous clouds. knowing, there in lies the finishing line. The crowds, the sounding clatter, the boats, the men, all become nothingness in front of that vastness of blue we call the sea. The silence, the whistling of the wind, the drumming of the waves, the desire to win, to conquer that ever so veracious sleeping giant we call nature. The horn is blown, the race has begun, men have taken up arms, their souls on the line, wining is the end. In full swing they break into the water. You dare challenge me?, I am nature!, I shall strike thee with thunder and attack thou with the roaring waves. Be gone racer!, for I am the king, they call me the ocean and I shall always be the winner.

Thanks.