by Ian Stewart
Look out at the sea, so dark, so stormy as the wind attacks it, fell wind that it is, and disturbs the still waters - still waters so pure, so clear, so naïve to the world. Fell wind brings dust, dust to pollute the naïveté the still waters possess, to drown them in the fierce mutterings and melancholy words that only the gale can sing, shriek in its fierce voice, high upon the sky's pathways. The waves that scar the surface, rising and falling, over and over, oscillating through the calm, disrupting and returning peace, over and over. And the rocks, rocks that grow from underneath, puncturing the surface, bringing trouble, obstacles to the waves progress, impeding. Yet still the waves split around such obstacles and form again upon the other side, as if they were never touched. The waves cannot be stopped, even with all impedance put in front of them.
Ian Stewart is a teenage artist and writer who masquerades as a high school student. His guitar and piano are constant companions (though he doesn't play them particularly well).