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Bones

I lay back on the picnic bench and dip one toe into the sand. The wind rustles through the strings of my cut off shorts and I can just make out the sound of lapping waves in the distance.


I walk the dogs out into the dunes, look to the west and then turn to chase my hat. Sliding downhill, through loose sand and sinking to my ankles.


Finally, this west Texas beach takes over, burying my straw hat like old bones in the desert. It's probably not the first time.


We wander further down and find shade in the shadow of a westward dune and I wait there until the dogs stop panting. I make a mental note to secure my hat band.


Looking in the mirror is always harder than looking through a window. Sometimes the flaws and mistakes just don't want to be seen - to be realized and brought to life.


It's a difficult thing - to come to face to face with yourself and no one else to blame.


Walking back to camp, I sink as if the ground beneath me has no end. The dogs run, fading into the sunset like long ago dreams, their footsteps disappearing into the wind.


And I follow behind. Walking my own path. Making my own way as I always do. As I am blessed to do.


It's the only one I really know of course.



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