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Out of time

I've felt this way before and no doubt I will again, after all it is seasonal, but this time of year always confuses me.  It is warm enough that part of me gets tricked into thinking summer is just about to begin.  Another part of me, stumbles over a trip wire that signals a torrent of let's make soup, plan Christmas and nesting feelings.

When I walk off the beach for the final time of the season, it feels like a raw wound opens in my chest.

In time, slowly, the two broken flaps of skin find each other and knit together quietly.



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