A bloggy place to think out loud.
"Here's my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above." (Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, v. 3)
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27 February 2017
The waves crash the shore, reaching out just a little farther, a little farther, with every return of the tide. The surge churns the sand and leaves a trail of iridescent bubbles across the shadow of damp. Plovers and pipers scurry this way and that to avoid the swell and froth.
So do I.