Photo by Dorlly de la Cruz

The woman sat before the ocean. The sand under her palms and buttocks was still warm after a sunny cloudless day, and she got rid of her shoes and socks. The skin of her feet was warmer than that of her palms, and the plants of her feet hugged fondly the warmth of the sand. The warmth met a soon death nonetheless, as the woman sunk them into the infinite, tiny grains that never got the warm embrace of daylight.

It was sand closer to the unseeable depths of the ocean before her eyes than to the skies. The waves…

Isabel A Hermosillo

Writer, saunterer, and tea contemplator. Stories get tangled among my hair and take the form of writings, poems and photography. Bilingual zealot.

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