130708_07

just a bit up there over the tidal line stand the edge of the forest; it is no big deal it has no big trees; everything grows cautiously because winter winds bleach trees for their eddies carry sea salt into frozen droplets; deadly no branch tries to walk against the winds leaving the trunk bare to the worst raping winds; stripped filled with salt trees die deep enough that the skeletons form a kind of sacrificed avant garde for as long as the hardened trunk can stand; then it is all over again and again; they would not be called 'heroes' rather they are seen as long term visionaries who choose to die in order for their dream to be born out on their last breath so to speak.