« Driftwood. |
| That Cake. »
Every morning we were at the beach, Molly and I would look for stories in the sand.
Stories about where the waves had been.
Stories about who else had been traveling through it
or even flying over it.
Then we would leave our own stories
for them to discover that night.
Posted at 07:21 AM | Permalink
You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.
The comments to this entry are closed.