It’s dusk. The last remaining slithers of sunshine are fading from the sky as I look out across the estuary. The tide is high, and boats are bobbing in the encroaching gloom, their masts clinking in the wind. I’m sitting at the top of a flight of metal steps that lead down to the water. Yesterday, when the tide was out, my smallest played on a narrow st…
© 2024 Laura Pashby
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