Once I felt warm moist wind from across the South China Sea on my face. It was a thick substance with the smell of salt. I lived beneath a volcano in a place that no longer exists. It is Strange when a part of your past, a place where you walked can exist only in memory.
Now I navigate an inland sea long evaporated but still visible by what it left behind. The air that blows against my face is a desiccant with the delicate aroma of desert flowers sage and mesquite. My ocean is vast with turbulent waves but only memory of moisture.