Cemetery by the Sea Those in the know straddle splintering cracks in the dirt track ignoring the keep out subtleties of closed farm gates, their reward a handful of graves from then and now laced with grass and graced with head stones at drunken angles. Some have been beheaded but crinkle-edged lichen clustered like tiny tatted doilies dignifies an upright cross and harlequin tiles cover death in black and white. Forebears rest in an eternal location, location, location. Robyn Lance Cool climate At the closed café door a father struggles to couple his…
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