Will You Come With Me, To Nantucket?

Before they come. Or after. Everything there is “after” now. There’s still plenty of leftover before in the after, though. Or something.

The ocean is not an abstraction when you box the compass and see it in every direction.

The dinks confer.

An alley. Must be a bad neighborhood.

The rarest sight in Massachusetts. The horizon.

Speed bumps.

It’s a small world; but I wouldn’t want to paint it.

Let’s get some sinkers.