
The elder told the same joke, and the yard laughed on the same old beat. But there's a line of footprints in the snow toward the water that wasn't there yesterday.
Whose footprints are they?
Footprints don't follow the tide. People do.
One knot, one night. Whatever story I don't know yet just hasn't happened yet.

The elder told the same joke, and the yard laughed on the same old beat. But there's a line of footprints in the snow toward the water that wasn't there yesterday.

One knot, one night. I counted this morning and came up one short of yesterday's count.