My place

At this point, to build an image of where I am standing is merely impossible.
Though, right in this blank there's a place for those words.

Mist is around my skin, laying tiny drops all over me. It's warm. I am not sure if this warmth comes from the mist or from the golden sunbeams coming forth from the clouds. They stray above the ocean beaneath my feet. I am suspended over a small piece of wood. Only my toes touch it, it is rough and wet.

I move and the board tilts dreadfully. A cold chill goes through my spine.

I am keeping my eyes closed. Perhaps I'll find land somewhere. Perhaps...