There is evidence of activity at the shoreline—
Someone has shuffled about in the sand, skipping stones maybe, or staring at the horizon, cloud formations, a sailboat…
It’s almost as though someone else has been here.
But no. It feels too private, this place where I walk.
Except for the litter, the footprints, a name drawn with a stick, except for all that, surely I’m the only one ever to have been here.
Right now, that view, this red sky that delights me (possibly because I was a sailor in another life, a pirate according to a woman claiming to know such things; but I don’t like sailing, I explained. Ah, she said, that’s likely because I went down with my ship.)
—this sky
is mine.
And no one—not pirates nor stone skippers—has ever seen it exactly like this.
Matilda Magtree 
That’s it – I insist that you dress as Jack Sparrow next Halloween!
haha! Have never been a dresser-upper, but whenever I did, I’d inevitably forget some essential ‘part’. For instance, one year, at the last moment, and reluctantly, I dressed for a Halloween thing by cutting a hole in a white sheet. Slipped it over my head and went as an angel. All night everyone asked what I was, wanted to know where was my halo, my wings. Oh yeah…
I have a feeling my Jack Sparrow would look more like funky hobo…
nice. to own the sky. it’s that fast time of year when I see a December posting date and think, oh no, almost a year since the last post? but no, I’ve been here since.
And I for one am glad you have been.