I write this letter hoping that it will be found
and delivered to my family, whose address
is on the reverse. By my reckoning,
I have been on this island five months,
and have not seen a living soul in
all the time. Were it not for the moon,
I would begin to wonder if I am indeed
on planet Earth; for this place is strange
to me, as are the creatures in it.
This pen, my last, is running out of ink
My health is good, and I am eternally hopeful
of rescue: on the beach, I have the makings
of a signal fire ready to ignite at any sign
of a ship or plane. So I may reach home before
you receive this message in a bottle.

Since I wrote the words above, we have had
a storm that destroyed my lean-to and
washed away all my food and firewood.
I have spent the past three weeks catching up,
and only recently had the time to find the pen
and this paper, which fortunately stayed dry.
I hope all is well with you; of my location,
I can say only that the island is about two

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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