Ocassionally we find hidden coves along the Washington coast and my mind always drifts toward, “If only we could stay for a spell…”

Usually I envision myself perched on a rock, drawing or painting my surroundings, something I never take time for. At Dead Man’s Cove, I imagined myself taking up poetry writing. Such an ominous name begged for words. 

There’d be so much time, no distractions…

Then hunger called, and the kids remembered we had a yurt waiting for us and we would build a fire.

Goodbye, friend.

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