the harbor is empty, boats lining the edge of the water. a crane lifting them gingerly and dripping. so naked and vulnerable. a boat hibernating on shore is sad in a singular way. my favorite, a wide wooden yacht, who waves and smiles in the water, is now sitting stiff and cold in it's winter hold. the light is strong. we walk with bulky coats. the fire smells warm and there are still a few leaves that whisper on branches. i will wash the floors and make quilts. november is strong in my bones today.
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