Painting the sky

TheGhostWriter


So there we were- Pacific Islanders, all of us. We all knew how to fish, cook, clean, work, and build… A rough bunch, camping out under the stars. Nature was our playground. Our parents wouldn’t worry, they knew we could handle the worst with a grin and a wink. We knew we had something here; Something special that only few stumble upon. This was life. Most of us didn’t wear shoes, our feet were naked on the rocks and sand and weeds and all, and we wouldn’t have it any other way. I brought a guitar along for a jam. We sang and laughed and waited patiently for the sun to rise over the horizon. Waves crashed on the beach a few yards away, crickets sang with us in the background, the fire glistened with vigour, supplemented by the moonlight ever so clear. The stars, my goodness! They matched the…

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