31/12/16

by George Pringle

It was really a very fine day to get the ferry. Like wandering around, in a dream. The desolate deck had just enough wind, the milky mist, that seemed to sing all the seaward songs of a childhood never gone but lingered near the surface.

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The boat, a knife to plunge the rind of our now forbidden land. Oh, Europe! Your nicer fields…just on the other side.

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