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patterns of ink

How fruitless to be ever thinking yet never embrace a thought... to have the power to believe and believe it's all for naught. I, too, have reckoned time and truth (content to wonder if not think) in metaphors and meaning and endless patterns of ink. Perhaps a few may find their way to the world where others live, sharing not just thoughts I've gathered but those I wish to give. Tom Kapanka

Friday, April 14, 2006

Our Childhood Beach

[See post above.]

We did most of our swimming and beachcombing at Lighthouse Park near the mouth of the St. Clair River in Port Huron, Michigan. From there you can see the Fort Gratiot Lighthouse and the Blue Water Bridge(s).

My youngest daughter's middle name is Clair (without the final "e") in honor of this spot. The water here is refreshingly cold even in mid-summer, and there are always plenty of smooth stones to hold a blanket in place. (Something there's much less of on the west side of the state.)



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