Voltrey

Daylight wanes as sky becomes heavy. Isobars compress and warp; cross-sectioned onions on the nightly news. The coast awakens, transformed from the doldrums of summer. Warmth; a flickering memory, like those drawn upon for favourable conditions at half-forgotten spots. The ocean roars, resuming it’s age-old attack on the coastline in a relentless barrage of storm fronts. And so the hunt begins, chasing the nooks hidden from wind and seas. Schedule revolves around brief opportunities, better described as optimistic hunches. A goading carrot dangled, and ever so occasionally within reach.

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Sunsets and Skys

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Petter: I'm like a sweet peach on a hot summer day

Megan: You're like a sour pickle on a windy day

Petter: Eodem modo typi, qui nunc nobis videntur parum clari, fiant sollemnes in futurum

Megan: Mirum est notare quam littera gothica, quam nunc putamus parum

Petter: Claritas est etiam processus dynamicus, qui sequitur mutationem consuetudium lectorum