We live trapped, between the churned-up and examined past and a future that waits for our work.

A lifetime of hard work developed a deceptive amount of strength and power in her. She clearly had hidden muscles. Her dock lines creaked and moaned like that of the reins of a horse trying to sprint but forced to trot. She anxiously chomped upon them, growing ever more restless with the change in the tide. She could see the open pasture from the fuel dock and feel the ocean pulsing through her as the south swell churned the harbor

It seems like a lot of music today is so churned out and simple.

We live trapped between the churned-up and examined past and a future that waits for our work.