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My ship floats, but recent storms have stripped it of amenities, gentleness and most meaningful adornment. I shall soon spend time by the shore patching holes, collecting pearls from the bivalve books populating the surf, whispering truth to those who care to listen. I will warm myself with salty driftwood fire, and return to the waves ere long. A ship is safe in the harbor, but that's not what ships are for.
I realize that I spend most of my life listening to language as if it were all metaphor. Whatever people say, I see it also as metaphor. So a description like yours, of - I imagine - your life, seems quite understandable. Stay warm. I love this: collecting pearls from the bivalve books populating the surf
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