I half-remember a children's story about a little girl who lived high in the mountains, and for whatever reason, she relocated to the city. Poignantly, the first few nights when she heard the unfamiliar sound of cars passing in the distance, she assumed the sound was wind in the pine trees - the thing she was familiar with.
Here on the hard, every time I hear a car pass, I interpret it to be a dinghy passing our stern, and flex my knees to take up the shock as I "know" that in another minute, our boat will be bobbing in their wake.
Can you tell I can't wait to get back in the water?
Murder At The Marina | Blog Tour & Fiesta
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