Little flaws are sometimes big mercies.
A long time ago, we bought a ramshackle beach house on Lake Superior and two years later it burned down. One minute we had a house and the next it was gone. That happens to people, though, and it’s a survivable thing. We lost things, a massive stone fireplace, tables made from beach wood, dishes and pillowcases, shards of which I kept finding in the sand years afterward. A house can blow up, literally blow up in deep darkest winter on the frozen shore of Lake Superior, but still leave dainty little notes. A bathroom tile, white with a curlicue blue design, I found it. But from the detritus of the old comes the new.
Our new house was built in a rush. There is a small window on this patch of Lake Superior of build-able weather and even that is abbreviated by the nesting schedule of the Piping Plover…
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