Winter Light

“How things were off kilter,” I told myself, taking in the lake view: skateboard thugs and artnapping just didn’t square.

The gallery ended at a cul-de-sac facing the lake, to the side of it was a good ninety feet of botanical nightmare before you hit sand and the inlet shore. Ten minutes of searching produced a single, too steep footpath.

I fell only twice.

Near breathless, all the way down, I wondered who would chance this in the dark, less than sober and with a painting of that size?

“Winter Light” wasn’t taken for money or anything that had to do with beauty’s leverage.

On the sand, I walked out to the water and chose the direction with more sand than plant. Soaked by wind spray, I was twenty minutes along and halfway to the lighthouse when I passed a pair of joggers and an empty vodka bottle. I moved in from the shore and walked up to the eight foot hedge of wild purples, greens, and browns.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)