A Ragged Colt May Make A Good Horse

I'm still finding excuses to drive down to Fort Monroe (where I lived last year) and wander around the moat and visit the deserted beaches. It had been a quiet base before, but now it seems almost a ghost town. Only a handful of families remain; the roads are more populated with gulls dropping clams from above to break their shells than cars. There's a certain stillness in the air, a deserted look to the beaches that didn't exist before; sand unblemished by previous footprints. Yet, I'm not quite ready to give up the ghost, enjoying an aimless wander there now more than ever before...