A pause, while the sun gathers her courage to climb up over the hill. She’s packed her lunch and taken her meds, and she has her to-do list sketched out, but there’s always that little pause before throwing herself into the day.
God knows what all these things mean to all these people: we know so little, and we try so hard. Scuff and a pebble skits right over the edge, and falls without a sound. Good night! Good night! Dream of ragged ships coming in over the bar; dream of cinnamon and sunlight; dream of wet shirts laid out on the rocks to dry. More things are in play than ever we imagined: of that, at least, I’m sure.
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