Mile 13375: I recommend oxygen therapy and wind massage, Grand Haven MI, North Pier.

Waves are crashing over the breakwaters. The breakwaters are breaking water, waves broken into two. Water draining off the pier has cut a stream through the sand, a creek running along the breakwater, the splash water returning to the big lake. These winds have refreshed themselves with oxygen, compressing more oxygen into my every aspiration. I imagine my body delights in fresh ions colliding with my skin. I take a shower every day, but bathing in a wind carries a heaviness away from my skin. I sat and I meditated facing the wind and sun, my ball cap bill keeping my eyelids from glowing. I wasn't able to keep thoughts from opening my eyes. My thoughts always distract me from inner discovery. My thoughts also keep me from getting anything done. So I watched thousands of sand grains flow over a sand plateau. I spotted a Viceroy or a Monarch blown onto the wet sand as if a leaf, stuck to the flat wet sand. Its black wires of legs and antennas flickered, and no bird would bite on this morsel, believed to be bitter by the birds. On the channel, with waves riding up between the breakwaters like a tidal bore, a man stood near the blue railings, a glass of red wine in a Ridel stem and a freshly lit cigar in his other hand. It wasn't Rush Limbaugh, who is rumored to live around here. The Epicurean stood six or more feet tall, facing the sun and wind as his female companion furiously snapped pictures.