We arrived in West Haven on Saturday evening, returned the car, got one dog back, collapsed. Sunday we unpacked, pick up my car from Lyme and the second dog, and collapsed again. I had one more stone left to leave somewhere, but I couldn't settle on the right place for it. People called and emailed. Where is the 21st stone? How does it end?
Of course, there is no grand finale, no punch line, no epiphany. Because there is no ending. My feet are still walking, and the stones are out there on their own journeys, to be lost or found, incomprehensible fragments of a mysterious whole unknown to any who might find them, only complete here in a cyberspace blog.
Today I finally placed #21 in a spot more desolate then where the others are, but it felt right-- where the east ends at the Atlantic, on a rock that becomes an island at high tide, inhabited at this time of year only by crows and seagulls and a few contemplative souls.