GloMag GloMagApril2020 | Page 178

on the brow of the hill the land drops suddenly, you see miles of sand, rugged cliff, crushing waves drift into enchanting dreams clear like an icicle in the druid heritage you are for scaling the summit now want to land on the silver sand there is only the asking for being, shadows melt clouds secure every corner of the vast sky the truth is reversed it seldom is. 178