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| P1010047 |
| Waiting for Jon to return, words came to me and I scribbled them down: kayak flotsam at the edge of vision, a red splinter lost in mist, so frail: a mere fingernail paring! how can it hold half my heart? Meanwhile, on his way back, Jon took a couple of nice pictures of Full Moon, which you see here. Then we left, running through patches of fog and patches of open water; radar on, radar off; Full Moon riding easily over the low, slow swell, closing eventually with the coast again. |
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