>Just looking back to when Wick was still accessible, before all that endless construction. That day I wrote a poem before almost losing my surfboard…

A dull roar of tiny-ass waves

Sun a pale yellow

Creamy orange amber between its reflection and source 

The rest west coast impressionistic 

A few surfers head out to wait for the odd two-and-a-half footer

reaping the the benefits

There’s no malice here

Just simplicity

And even on a day like today, where there are moments when you cant even see foam anywhere it’s so flat

I’d rather be here and know

Than be elsewhere and wonder

On a day like today you take it if you want it

But no pressure

To go out or no?

A decision-making process as gentle as the evening mists by the purple silhouette mountains to the north…

Feed Shark