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