There had been a time when she could have driven over Blind Pass without needing a bridge because there had been a time when there had been no Blind Pass. The two islands were one until a 1926 hurricane clipped them in two like a giant pair of scissors, leaving the gap. Yet even as she zipped across it, the tide running through the pass worked to silt it in again and close it. She thought of the two islands as a couple pulled apart and eternally unsure if they wanted to hold hands again.
You’re either scissors or silt, she told herself. If you chose to sever yourself from the world, you could find worse places to do it.
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