It is cold,colder thanI could have imagined,and it sounds as though I am ina wind tunnel,yet I am excitedand happy in myshiveringas waves tease mewith icy tendrils.Wet sand is solid beneathmy feet,and I am drawn tothe ruins ofa pier,the shafts of woodbristling in the waterlike a mohawk on theocean. And happilyI feel very smallin a … Continue reading The old pier
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