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"We're surfing man, lighten up." A poem.

Between Sets by Philip Scott Waikoloa

There was a long lull in the, until now, consistent sets of waves. After scanning the horizon again, I noticed Brent paddling up around me.


"What is it with people and rumors and tearing each other part," I asked Brent.


"We're surfing man, lighten up."


"There's nothing coming in right now."


Brent sat up on his board and looked at the horizon.

"You ever hear that quote by Eleanor Roosevelt?"


"I don't think so."


"It goes something like... high-minded people like to talk about music and beauty, poetry and art, surfing... some people talk, and mostly complain about their work and stuff... and low-minded people have nothing to talk about other than other people, and usually not in a good way. They're generally jealous types, vindictive, they're sure they're in the right because they're the majority."


"That's gnarly."


"Yeah it is, now just let it go and get some waves, there's something big coming in on the outside."


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