On a strange island an old woman and a dog live, far away from the world.  In her life she was free, and traveled to distant, vibrant worlds that many only read in National Geographic magazines.  She wrote the articles that would fill magazines such as this, of people and buildings and their lives and deaths and sometimes things in between.  This is fondly remembered by the old woman, though the memories are faded now.  

The woman was married in early February along the raging coastline.   The vibrant worlds were pushed heavily aside.  She slept in the same bed for months at a time, in a house with a low porch and failing drainpipes.  The first year the basement flooded, the slides that had captured her travels were lost.  By the eighth year, she too was lost.  These memories are faded as well.  

Her children grew, and her husband trickled away.  Alone, she lived in the old house until its creaks became strange conversation.  The woman bought a german shepherd puppy in the summer.  When it outgrew the small back yard she sold the house, leaving her old conversation behind.  

With her savings she bought a small piece of land surrounded by water and the house that stood on its west side.  Gradually various seashells and other curiosities the tide revealed were collected and placed about the house.  As the dog grew accustomed to the chill of the salty ocean, the woman grew to be contented by the loving tide and what it brought.  They carefully comb the beach every morning.  The woman is happy.  The dog is happy.  (The Shrine/An Argument from Helplessness Blues)

Perfectly Fleet Foxes