Between the Ocean Roar and Snow Capped Volcano, Mementoes Of

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Peter Kurdulija on February 25, 2010

Our personal space seems to require considerably more real estate when in wide open areas or places that we don’t expect to find other people.

Another couple, tourists by the look of them, pitched their tent with a clear view of the iconic mountain, a colossal cone made by someone or something in search of true perfection. It didn’t bother me though. A mutual wave of hand exchanged the intense common feeling, only possible between souls who passionately share a love for the same thing.

Seaspray found its way into the car and mixed with the mellow music into a mind thawing brew. Only a few olives away from completing an award winning sandwich, something made me look over my left shoulder. The way a scratch on vinyl does it to a beautiful melody, the scene ripped a sore through the self induced nirvana.

Oh, the vision I had, that little hallucination of mine. It was a cloud in the shape of a giant tsunami, a half mountain high about to splash into it and turn the whole world, myself, my drinks, a loaf of exotic bread, cold meats and half finished sudoku, into a big featureless swamp. I learnt later, the entire incident was the result of an ancient curse of Bacchus, invoked without exception upon any soul who dares to consume fine wine from a plastic cup.

Don’t do it.

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Peter Kurdulija
Lower Hutt, New Zealand

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  • Uploaded on February 25, 2010
  • Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works
    by Peter Kurdulija

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