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Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's Bête Noire. Contact: turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] com
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Walking down the long path through the woods, grey cool day, finally to the shore, to pick up shells and throw driftwood back into the Sound, the sound of the waves immemorially calming and ancestral; to the kid, because there has been no time unlike the present, the present is endless, and horizons are endless; to the middle-aged parent, horizons close in, and any walk on any shore recalls past walks on other shores with loved ones now missing; and all I can hope for is the continuation of the present in some form, the present of calming waves, and the present of love, the presence of love to outlast any one life.
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