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  • I climbed up the steps to the blue. Into the blue horizon, all misty with the river waters, it was August. Up into the abstract love of the moment, when you cross over. We were land-weary, we took the ferry, these are the steps of the ferry, like abstract art. Solid, sturdy, aging, ageless, river water, northern water, Canada, Quebec province. The hot blue before the chill night. The clank and smooth of the boat, adventure and friendship ahead.

    Visiting. Bodies in person, talk on porches, wine with dinner, fires lit in fireplaces, long rambles into the wee hours, percussion, the skin pulled tight, high beds, smells, coffee together, bread so fresh you can't slice it, talking standing up, talking sitting down, cooking, chuckling, mossy rocks; all the senses. Hearing, seeing, smelling, touching, inhaling wood water rock. I bond this way: on the sound of the steps, the smell of the blue, my face eroded salty.

    (Photo by Susan, August 2016, Quebec)
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