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, the worrying.
Rocks made smooth from the ocean, he thought about her and that he might even smile, until he needed to zip up his jacket a little higher. He relit his pipe, and as he walked home he watched the sand,
surrounding his boots and then 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.
He wondered if her ghost would be there again.
Either way, Acadia would always live
within him.
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