I just noticed that I drafted the following as a blog post back in January, but never posted it. It was a draft of writing that became part of something else. I thought I’d post it now since it was just sitting there…..

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Setting out as morning comes again; every day, so many times we never see you anymore. But, oh, this is what you leave us with – the coast at your cheek, a Norfolk maze (the name of which I forget now), the bones of lost towns lay before your gaze.

And lights flicker out before the rising sun. There you will see them (following the meridian), they’re rising from the bones, from sleep, everyday… something about that anyway – I’m sorry, the details drip away, and over time we have remembered less, and even less.

And so you’re setting out. We never see you, but ever further down the coast you describe for us. Is your goal in other places? Or another time?

Every day, so many times, we never see you anymore. But, oh, this is what you leave us with – these old memories in stories, the hearts of which I forget now. But over time you still provide light impressions of the rising sun.

This is how we see you. With a smile, I will forget. You will forget me too.