Saturday, January 22, 2011
The beach in winter is mostly vacant, but it's still warm enough to walk barefoot through the shallowest ends of the waves. No orange skinned half naked people engaged in rituals on colorful blankets. The tide brings up mundane things that become strange. One day, I find ten separate gloves, none of them a match to each other, coughed up on the sand by the water and left alone.
Happy birthday to me. Yay.
Posted by Camilla Taylor at 12:42 PM