Molting

As the daylight shortens and the shadows grow longer, critters, human and otherwise, hunker down for the hungry days.

A ghost crab sits at the edge of the bay, exposed by the low tide, molting its summer shell before crawling deep into the beach to wait out the dark.

My skin lightens, melanocytes no longer waving tentacles laden with packets of pigment, no need to do the work when it no longer matters.

Through billions of years of evolution, doing pointless work leads to extinction. Laziness is a gift.

And here we are, pretending machines can make the pointless worthwhile.

Me? Time for a handful of freshly made bread, time for a nap, time to sit in the still warm October light.

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