I looked out over the ocean. Waves rippled gently across the surface, which stretched longingly toward the farthest reaches of the horizon, finally touching the sky at some unknown point--perhaps the edge of the world?
Over the steady crashing of the waves, I heard a gull calling in the distance. I closed my eyes and appreciated the peacefulness of the moment.
My reverie was broken when the gull landed on a powerline nearby and called again. It was not a gull at all, but a hawk.
The ocean became a vast Iowa cornfield, the cool breeze turned stagnant and humid, and the mild salty scent rotted into the tangy stench of hog manure.
As I walked back to my car, I thought to myself, "What a blessing it is, that the landlocked mind is entitled to wander."
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