Coral Terraces

I hope you found a safe place to sleep last night, Bob, without the roaring jet engine furnace. It feels like spring today! Ahhh.

Thrust up by a volcanic stretch, not the sudden yawn of an eruption, but a flexing push from pressure, the terraces are nearly flat. It's easy to imagine a broad flat section of the planet floating to the surface on an ancient sea and freezing in place. One by one, blown by the wind or deposited by passing sea birds, seeds arrive and settle into niches and crevices with the tiniest bit of soil and infrequent rain barely sufficient for growth. But grow they do, slowly and somehow changed by conditions from their parents until against all odds the barest hint of green covered the island. At least that's what Mona thought the rasta-looking guide had said. She found the long view over the terraces and out to sea distracting.

See you tonight. I've got my exercise in my hot little hand and am looking forward to your writing tenets or 10 commandments or...oh yeah, prinicples. My mood seems to have lifted a bit with sunshine, warmish breezes, and the re-Wisconsining of David & Abby.

--Barbara