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The other day I went on a drive with my dad. We went up north of the inlet out to Chesterfield Sound. I hadn't been out there since I was just a kid. There is a beach, and it is so super flat that you can walk a long long ways when the tide is out. Popular spot for family vacations back in the day. Now, there's barely anybody here, and the cottages higher up on the cliffs look all boarded up. But here and there on the packed sands, I can see things left behind from the past summer. Kites, broken tents, kids' pails, stuff like that. I guess people still vacation here, like nothing's ever changed. And I sort of marvel at that resilience, even if a bit sadly.
My dad and I walk far out, even wading into the cold water when we finally reach its edge. Way out like that, you can see the offshore windmills further out in the distance. They're all still by now, of course. They look so huge and unlikely to me. Like, how could anyone ever have worked so well together, to raise things like these? Yet here they are. But you know, there's a certain elegance to them even now, all rusted and seized up though they are. They remind me of trillium flowers, fading late into their season.