Tree frogs halt their whistling, dawn's light lifts the slumbering veil from your eyes. The scent
of thawed soil and damp leaves beckon you to the deck. You step onto the edge of your pool, a
polished mirror of floating bluebells spilling over the summit. You feel the warmth of the wood
beneath your feet, the vibrations of the earth's pulsing heart, a metronome buried deep within the
vines that swaddle the mountainside. Idle, you waver to the rhythm of the crashing tide in the
bay. Your breath deepens from within your chest. Breathe in the air, the ocean, the whitewoods, the
birds, the people. Exhale as one, and adopt the pace.
B Y M I C H A E L S C I V O L I
VUE ON TRAVEL
V U E N J . C O M
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