until the wind was a whisper....

"But way off alone, out by himself beyond boat and shore, 
Jonathan Livingston Seagull was practicing. 
A hundred feet in the sky he lowered his webbed feet,
lifted his beak, 
and strained to hold a painful hard twisting curve through his wings.
 The curve meant that he would fly slowly, 
and now he slowed until the wind was a whisper in his face,
 until the ocean stood still beneath him. 
He narrowed his eyes in fierce concentration, 
held his breath, 
forced one.. single... more... 

Excerpt.. Jonathan Livingston Seagull 
by Richard Bach... here

and the ocean stood still...

 a view from a porch,
 on a quiet bay in Massachusetts

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