Tag Archives: incest diaries

keep on pedaling

graffiti of a bicycle painted on a cement wallThe ocean is loud tonight – we can hear it all the way up at the house, the waves banging on the shore. Outside sounded to me like a windstorm or rainstorm but then I looked out and the trees were still, the pavement was dry. Oh, I thought. That’s the ocean. I can hear the ocean from my where I sit curled up in my pajamas, curled up in a book, curled up toward the tenderness of night.

This has been a quiet day, a joy day, an intside and in day. There was time on the beach, under mottled sun and clouds, time in the waves (in a bikini top that maybe was not made for rough-riding in the water – ahem). There was time cuddled on couch reading reading reading. There was time working on the book. There were catch-as-catch-can meals and a long bike ride and ice cream.

(Of course. All the days have ice cream.)

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