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.
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