mood: suspire
these are tales from the periwinkle picnic (in nova scotia, we call sea-snails 'periwinkles,' even if they're grey-green and the reposite colour of ocean). watermelon, strawberries, blackberries & the sun already setting in our eyes! sometimes in the summer you would call when my toes were buried in the musselshell sand & we would talk about time, about distance. but i'll ignore your spurious signal, i am indifferent and need this nothing to say. all right; alright. i watch the tide creep up, mitten our fingers & sandal my toes. i am happy. i read the letter once, then slipped its pale envelope somewhere in the chronology of ancient pages.
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