We finally emerged from the fog bank that haunts the north of the island, and sailed into the remains of a familiar Desolation Sound summer. The sound of dinghies being pulled up the beach, dry mosses crackling under your feet. Do our legs remember how to walk, where are our fair weather clothes, put away the firewood, the sun setting, catching up with friends, our time apart has it been years, no, we have just seen you haven't we. How was it up there? Was it fun.
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