Hunh?
Something may be as soothing and peaceful as predawn darkness with surf washing lightly ashore: I don’t know what it would be. Memories perhaps, private and to each his own. On a foggy night, a bell in Narragansett Bay ringing vessels away from rocks as I drift off to sleep, and I am 33, miles and years from adventures yet to come. Adventures, lives and loves unknown and undreamed. Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.
Just as well we can’t know the future, isn’t it. Thinking of walking on the beach: how far can I walk and still make it back? There was a time and year when it was regularly six or eight miles, but now I’m nearly twice that forty, how did this happen, how did I get here, I must not have been paying attention. Life is a bus ride, isn't it. I must have been looking out the window. A bus ride, and I was dozing. Walking is best when distracted or trying to walk away from. What? Whatever was I thinking? It hasn’t been possible to walk away from life.
Life doesn’t have to make sense. Neither does writing, musing, remembering. I was thinking Friday Dark Thirty for this blog post, but now I think Hunh? Let the reader understand even if the writer doesn't.
Life doesn’t have to make sense. Neither does writing, musing, remembering. I was thinking Friday Dark Thirty for this blog post, but now I think Hunh? Let the reader understand even if the writer doesn't.
There’s that ship’s light out by the horizon.
Dawn
Dawn
W