We were at this one beach a couple of months ago, a place well-known for agates washing ashore.
Clarity. I thought it dissolved with time.
Things become less black and white, don't they?
I don't know, though. Maybe there's some kind of distillation that comes with age.
The young search for clarity.
Does it develop with time?
Meanwhile I watch the clouding eyes of my old dogs. Clarity?
All that really seems to matter is the warmth of an old friend and a soft pillow for one's head.