The fog hovered low that evening as he stood silently in the sand listening to the waves. The rhythm washing every scar of the day
until he needed to zip up his jacket a little higher. Rocks made smoothe though. He relit his pipe, and as he walked home he watched the sand
surround his boots and give way again and again. He pulled his hat down further due the chill, and he thought of the lamps he left on in his cottage,
and quilts hanging over chairs, and a steaming, hot cup of tea.
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