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Memories of O.S.A. Lake, Killarney

The face of the water, in all its states, as mysterious as a human face

OSA Lake View #1.jpg

Decades of coming, traces of unfinished conversation, meals around a campfire, faces and names slowly vanishing, like ghosts between trees. I can't hang on to them forever.

OSA Lake View #3.jpg

"It's different now," I can tell myself, the only privilege of my age left. My companions back then are no longer around. Their faces are harder to render in my mind, photos in boxes.

OSA Lake View #4.jpg

I burned a few twigs watching, just for the sake of it, while listening to whispering pines. I had seen them somewhere, in a noble gallery, I think.  

Morning coffee at the old camp, sipping it slowly, watching the big lake, Lake Killarney. It's quiet like never before.

Past is like memories fading into the noisy reality of the present.

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