mount saint michel

Dreaming in the Tall Grass

travel diary:

I imagine myself laying in the waist deep grass of the normandy marshlands. it rolls out in every direction until it simply ends on the coast with the creeping high tide. the end is not the hard line the map makes it out to be, but rather it is a place where greenyellow blurs into slowly rolling grey. I watch as my boots slough mud on the trampled blades.