on the beach in purgatory
The beach was cold and partially covered in lingering snow and completely deserted except for a fluffy black dog near the shoreline, he trotted right up to me when I came near.
The dog wore a collar with tags so I checked them but they were only medallions of silver carved in designs with no discernible words.
“I’m not lost,” the dog said, cocking his head at me. “I’m just waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” I asked. He paused before he answered. I straightened his tags because I’d put them askew trying to read them.
“For things that I have no control over to change,” he said after a moment. “Or maybe pirates.”
“Me too,” I replied, and we waited together after that.
About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.