Solitary Chronicles

I awoke this morning on a beach in the French Riviera. The water's brilliant color blue cascades to milky white as it crashes on shore. There is no sand, but smooth rocks piled upon eachother, like a barrackade keeping the tide from soaking everything I own. And when that saline crest reaches its climax, its falls back; retreats into itself, and one by one the rocks are pulled down with it, creating a sound so tranquilizing, description becomes impossible.

Now I sit on a balcony in the swiss alpes. The air is cold, and the scent of alpine is everywhere. I am about to leave for a canyon high in the mountains, where I will bungee jump four hundred and fifty feet.