How can I hold what I must let go?

Again, last night, I smelt the smell of a cheaply printed book from my childhood. In this book was a cartoon of a silly fellow who goes to the beach to swim. Fearing his clothes might be stolen, he buries them in the sand. Content that all is well with his solution, he spends the entire afternoon in the surf and only as the sun has gone down does he leave the water.

Meanwhile, the tide has come in and covered his hiding hole. He waits, in moonlight, for the tide to recede. Then he digs, hole after hole, in fruitless search for his clothing. Here the cartoon ends and my childhood despair begins.

How can I hold what I must let go?

How can I hold what I must let go?

Keith Russell

Newcastle, Australia

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