Shadow birds crying out at each other over the sound of crashing waves

Circle over the molten silver sea.

The ocean beats tirelessly at the rocks that appear to sprout from its depths,

Never ceasing in its effortless, cascading motion

The water glows with colors unimaginable, beautiful teals and violets,

To

Muddy blacks and browns washing onto the sandy beach

That small cove is dotted with driftwood and dissolves into a forgotten trail

Steadily climbing up a steep hill.

The brown and red path is dotted with an occasional patch of brush

Reddish brown, yellow, orange, even green grasses sway in the salty breeze

At the end of the trail is a small cottage, stationary in the midst of the engulfing motion

Its roof is a dusty red thatch,

Dark compared to the tawny yellow house settled beneath it.

The walls of the house are home to a creeping emerald vine,

Attempting escape from the color-filled garden

At the bottom of the door and windows.

The garden stops only at the pale gray two-board fence

Barring the house from a beautiful cliff overlooking the ocean

Where shadow birds circle over the molten silver sea.