The bay echoes the sky like birds sing morning; harmoniously. It is pink and gray, salmon spawning in late season’s brooks. They say rebirth requires death but I fear the unknown, or better yet, I fear the once known. These people, if I were to see them in a room full of strangers, would they one day melt away? Faded into my memory, the smoke that blooms on peaks of distant hills. The sea says the end is drawing near.
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