Writing doesn’t have to be so complicated.
It can just be me, lying here on a hammock beside the water, surrounded by sailboats. The sound of fish jumping. Clouds floating lazily across a blue sky. It can be this longleaf pine towering above me, tall and gangly, full of pine cones that threaten to drop on my head. This vine crawling up the trunk, circling round and round, its orange flowers lit up by the sun.