How old I have become. How battered.

My eyes are weary and my heart is shrivelled and I shall go to bed soon and read a book written for teens.

There is not a sound that I can hear tonight. Ah. Maybe a cricket.

And my own emptiness.

Late at night, I can hear remnants of Me cracking and crumbling.

Late at night , I can rest.

Some critter is trying to get into my Shack but I ain’t letting it and I don’t even care to photograph it tonight.

I disintegrate.

Under an almost full moon. And wait for the Tides to come. The high tides of Eastertime.



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