shadow

Soft-shoe memories

Closing our beach house for the winter, I run back inside after everything's packed. The place already is settling down. Wind sighs in the hearth like a sleepy hostess when guests have gone. Yet traces of us remain here and there, seashells collected on sunlit days, wildflowers drying in a jelly glass. And those creaks - an echo of children dancing with sand between their toes?

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