That World is Gone
When the town was closed for winter I’d wear my winter overcoat and sit on beaches throwing stones to see which ones would float. All afternoon, as I sat in the beach what I was trying to be was out of reach. And in the days that followed I’d walk the shoreline of the sea and shudder in premonition of my death but did not let it bother me. That world is gone. It’s fallen through. It’s time is over. When can we start anew? For a while when you’re young, wo oh, you can take it in your stride or on the chin and you greet all of your woes, wo oh, with mock tears and a tiny violin. Yes, that’s all gone, and soon I will be too but before I’m over, I’d like to start anew. If I could roll again across the stones onto a beach as the day comes to a close and badly dance about a bonfire flames and feel the sand beneath my toes! But all the while I was thinking of the beach what I was trying to be was out of reach. So, even when we lived like dogs it felt like we were free running from pillow to l...