I’m glad we cleared the air. All afternoon I’d hung around at your place drinking tea, studying your photographs and wishing we could somehow be in touch. Your living-room walls picture life in a dry country, soon to be revisited. Would you take me away from this desert by the tall sea and into yours? Below us the surf looms above scared riders. Yes, I want that but know as well as you do that the stony plains will not give shelter. Give what you can; take nothing if not offered freely. Shut gates behind you. I’ll walk my path, ask only welcome if I make it to your heartlands.

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