It is a relief to me, and it is a sorrow, the way these places wait for us to come back, the way they welcome us as if nothing important has been lost. And we go about our business, trying not to look directly at the empty space that once held a crucial thing: an old oak tree, or a fishing buddy.
I tell my children to cast in the line one last time. I fix my stare on the small plastic bobber, and I pretend that nothing has changed.
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