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And so I sit on the dunes in my carefully mismatched clothes, hour after hour, day after day, frozen in my looking back. ‘Do not look behind you…lest you be swept away.’ That is what scripture say. Only there is nowhere for me to look but back. No future. No redemption. Like Lot’s wife, I am turned to salt, my tired eyes trained on the blue-gray horizon, where sea meets sky, where my yesterday’s met my tomorrows, a ragtag eccentric, watching and waiting for something that never comes.
